Carrying laundry, rushing too and fro, I walked past my stairs and from the corner of my eye I caught the glimpse. I froze and stared.
Perfectly chubby yet somehow impossibly long toddler legs dangled off a stair. Round belly, sweet fingers wrapped around a toy, eyes the color of dark chocolate, wispy brown hair framing her face. She giggled as I passed, then paused with a "Mom?" when she realized I was staring.
Miss Tiny is Thirteen months.
The same age SHE was when she left. I feel it in my bones. The grief that seeps into my soul. The ache that is never quite abated.
Two do not replace the one. I love the two fully and completely, but one is still absent. Most days now I feel the joy of the memories and the appreciate of the gift of time together but in that moment, in that glimpse I remember what I lost. Who I lost.
The enormity and depth of the space in our family that was once her.
It's the familiar weight of two legs wrapped around my hip as I fill a bottle. The snuggle into my shoulder when a sleepy baby wants to rest. A fist that still can be completely wrapped in my grasp. The perfect acceptance in the eyes of a baby who loves you most.
Thirteen months.
I don't know if I want to wish the reminders away or wish them to stay.
Showing posts with label grief. Show all posts
Showing posts with label grief. Show all posts
Friday, April 23, 2010
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Births, Deaths, Anniversaries and Birthdays
Although all days are significant, some days are certainly more significant than others and Saturday was such a day for me.
Saturday, in the lives of each of my boys, was a good and significant day. Saturday morning my goalie child got his first "big team" shut out, which means he didn't allow the other team to score any goals on him at all. It also means I owe him twenty bucks. He was very, very proud.
9 extended family members, many of whom barely know Greg, came out to watch his game at an out of town tournament. He scored on an amazing play, was awarded player of the game (MVP), broke his stick, got a penalty and overall impressed his fans. He was very, very proud.
Eric's team struggled at home going down 3-0 early in the game before coming back and tying a team they have struggled against all year. Again, in the life of a 12 year old boy, a good and significant day.
Saturday was also my Nan's 84th birthday. I called to wish her a happy birthday from the home of my cousin, while holding my cousin's precious son I was meeting for the first time. This baby, also my Nan's 8th great-grandson.
A happy day you think? Yet we all choked back tears because Saturday was also the 9th anniversary of my aunt's death.
My aunt, the mother of the now 20 year old cousin on whose couch I sat, who was not very long ago, a terrified 11 year old little girl who cried in my arms the day I took her to the funeral home and held her as she saw her mommy laid out on a gurney and got to say goodbye.
My aunt, my Nan's precious, much loved, youngest daughter. Her friend. The daughter that called her every day. The daughter that loved the family dinners, the parties we held. The daughter that remembered her mother's birthday every year with special gifts and wonderful acts of thoughtfulness.
My aunt, grandmother to the baby I held. Grandmother to his brother, still a baby himself. Boys that will never know her laugh or the way she could sing a song at every occasion. Boys who won't know that their grandma would have spoilt them with gifts and worried endlessly about their mom.
My aunt. My friend. My fill-in mother when I needed one. Gone 9 years. My boys came home weeks before her death. She was coming to spend Christmas with us, and died a month before. She never met my boys. She never met her grandsons.
My aunt, killed; suddenly, tragically, accidentally on her mother's 75 birthday. 9 Years Ago.
It was a day of significance. And I don't understand why sometimes God, or fate or happenstance so intimately ties together days that you can never forget. We will never forget my Nan's birthday, and because of that, will never forget the day my Aunt died.
And I find my heart filling up with dread for the days ahead because in an awful twist of fate I too share my birthday with a lost "daughter". The baby girl I loved and cherished and held for a year before she was suddenly gone from our lives. The baby girl I could never forget if I ever tried. My baby girl, even if just for a time, even if just in my heart.
Because THAT baby girl and I share a birthday. And I dread it. Once again, after the rush of Christmas and the joy and the expectation comes the weight of another January. Of another birthday. A birthday shared once but now always, forever, apart. She will be 3. I will be 35. I have a lifetime of birthdays ahead to dread.
There is no more joy in my Nan's birthday because of the reminder of the horrific loss we all suffered on that awful November day 1997.
My birthday is also no longer mine. I don't want it to be mine. Instead, this year, as last, I will run away and forget.
Saturday, in the lives of each of my boys, was a good and significant day. Saturday morning my goalie child got his first "big team" shut out, which means he didn't allow the other team to score any goals on him at all. It also means I owe him twenty bucks. He was very, very proud.
9 extended family members, many of whom barely know Greg, came out to watch his game at an out of town tournament. He scored on an amazing play, was awarded player of the game (MVP), broke his stick, got a penalty and overall impressed his fans. He was very, very proud.
Eric's team struggled at home going down 3-0 early in the game before coming back and tying a team they have struggled against all year. Again, in the life of a 12 year old boy, a good and significant day.
Saturday was also my Nan's 84th birthday. I called to wish her a happy birthday from the home of my cousin, while holding my cousin's precious son I was meeting for the first time. This baby, also my Nan's 8th great-grandson.
A happy day you think? Yet we all choked back tears because Saturday was also the 9th anniversary of my aunt's death.
My aunt, the mother of the now 20 year old cousin on whose couch I sat, who was not very long ago, a terrified 11 year old little girl who cried in my arms the day I took her to the funeral home and held her as she saw her mommy laid out on a gurney and got to say goodbye.
My aunt, my Nan's precious, much loved, youngest daughter. Her friend. The daughter that called her every day. The daughter that loved the family dinners, the parties we held. The daughter that remembered her mother's birthday every year with special gifts and wonderful acts of thoughtfulness.
My aunt, grandmother to the baby I held. Grandmother to his brother, still a baby himself. Boys that will never know her laugh or the way she could sing a song at every occasion. Boys who won't know that their grandma would have spoilt them with gifts and worried endlessly about their mom.
My aunt. My friend. My fill-in mother when I needed one. Gone 9 years. My boys came home weeks before her death. She was coming to spend Christmas with us, and died a month before. She never met my boys. She never met her grandsons.
My aunt, killed; suddenly, tragically, accidentally on her mother's 75 birthday. 9 Years Ago.
It was a day of significance. And I don't understand why sometimes God, or fate or happenstance so intimately ties together days that you can never forget. We will never forget my Nan's birthday, and because of that, will never forget the day my Aunt died.
And I find my heart filling up with dread for the days ahead because in an awful twist of fate I too share my birthday with a lost "daughter". The baby girl I loved and cherished and held for a year before she was suddenly gone from our lives. The baby girl I could never forget if I ever tried. My baby girl, even if just for a time, even if just in my heart.
Because THAT baby girl and I share a birthday. And I dread it. Once again, after the rush of Christmas and the joy and the expectation comes the weight of another January. Of another birthday. A birthday shared once but now always, forever, apart. She will be 3. I will be 35. I have a lifetime of birthdays ahead to dread.
There is no more joy in my Nan's birthday because of the reminder of the horrific loss we all suffered on that awful November day 1997.
My birthday is also no longer mine. I don't want it to be mine. Instead, this year, as last, I will run away and forget.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
The Gift of Time
Our visit was precious, wonderful and worth every tear.
It was goodbye. Hugs, tears and death bed promises asked and made. She told me to be a "good grandma" one day so I can be as lucky as her. She reminded me of how blessed I am with the family I have. She held my sister and I close and shed tears of grief of the loss about to come, and tears of joy for all we have shared together.
We laughed. We giggled. We ate. We cried. We reminisced. We sang. We listened. We talked.
We played crib. She skunked me. Twice.
We prayed.
She is ready to see heaven, but I am not ready to let her go. This dance of letting go and holding on is tragic. Brutal. Heart breaking. And at the same time, beautiful.
Beautiful to have a chance to celebrate her life with her while she is still aware of what she means to us, and us to her. Beautiful to KNOW that this time I have a chance to say what I need to.
To say good bye. Thank You. I love you. You have taught me all you needed to teach me. I will be ok. I will keep your legacy going. I will never forget you. Your memory is alive with me. It's ok, you don't need to be afraid.
All those the words I whispered in her ear, while inside I was screaming "Not Yet! Please God. Please Nan, NOT YET! You might be ready, but I am not. I need you, please, I need you. I need you as you were. I need your advice, your wisdom, your unconditional love. I need my Nan."
But she is not who she was. She suffers now and wants to go home. To see her daughter, grand daughter, husband, mother, sisters and brothers, friends and her Savior who wait for her. She talks of the curtain she dreams about with the light behind it. Of pulling back that curtain and not being able to see out it yet, but knowing its beautiful and bright. She wants to go. And I hold tight to the memory of the time when she was fully present and I celebrate that. Because I love her, I tell her what she needs to hear. It's ok to go. We will be ok. But I wonder.
And the present calls me back and I watch my sons gently show her love while she so gently offers it in return. I want them to remember her. Her little parties, their sleepovers at her house. The $5 that came in the mail for "an ice cream with your mom" every few months. The card games she so patiently taught, and then lost, for their sake. Her pictures of them that invariably had a thumb in the middle. Her legacy of college funds for each of the 8 great grandsons saved out of her own self sacrifice. She has loved them all. Equally treasuring them and honoring them. For Tanner's gentle nature. Eric's beautiful smile. Greg's love of hockey. Caden's love to snuggle. She is a GREAT, Great-Grandma. And she is so loved.
And the present calls me back and I watch my sons gently show her love while she so gently offers it in return. I want them to remember her. Her little parties, their sleepovers at her house. The $5 that came in the mail for "an ice cream with your mom" every few months. The card games she so patiently taught, and then lost, for their sake. Her pictures of them that invariably had a thumb in the middle. Her legacy of college funds for each of the 8 great grandsons saved out of her own self sacrifice. She has loved them all. Equally treasuring them and honoring them. For Tanner's gentle nature. Eric's beautiful smile. Greg's love of hockey. Caden's love to snuggle. She is a GREAT, Great-Grandma. And she is so loved.
She is not a perfect woman. She made mistakes. She has had a very hard life full of losses that I can't imagine surviving. But she is my Nan and I love her.
Life without her presence is unimaginable. If one day I am as precious to my grandchildren as she is to me I will truly be a successful woman in the only way that matters.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Living on a precipice
Its hard to put into words what life feels like right now.
On edge? Teetering? An infinite pause?
We sit and wait. We celebrate the fact that end isn't here, but we all breathe shallowly because we know its close.
I grasp at hope that I might get another visit, another few days together, and carry the reality that I really shouldn't count on it. I need to be ok if I don't. I have said what I needed to say. And still I hope.
And we focus now on the visits. The memories. The pictures. We laugh and reminisce.
We talk in circles around the idea of a funeral. Burial.
But what we all avoid is the reality of the shattering that will occur when we are plunged off that precipice. There will be no going back. No holding it together. No repairing the damage.
She is the glue that has held us together. The reason we hold on to our facade of a family. For her, we try.
My heart will break. And then my family will crack along the lines of difficult relationships.
And we wait. Until today? Tomorrow? Another week? Another month?
We sit upon this precipice of death.
On edge? Teetering? An infinite pause?
We sit and wait. We celebrate the fact that end isn't here, but we all breathe shallowly because we know its close.
I grasp at hope that I might get another visit, another few days together, and carry the reality that I really shouldn't count on it. I need to be ok if I don't. I have said what I needed to say. And still I hope.
And we focus now on the visits. The memories. The pictures. We laugh and reminisce.
We talk in circles around the idea of a funeral. Burial.
But what we all avoid is the reality of the shattering that will occur when we are plunged off that precipice. There will be no going back. No holding it together. No repairing the damage.
She is the glue that has held us together. The reason we hold on to our facade of a family. For her, we try.
My heart will break. And then my family will crack along the lines of difficult relationships.
And we wait. Until today? Tomorrow? Another week? Another month?
We sit upon this precipice of death.
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