There is so much going on in the world, in my world, in my head right now that I can barely see straight. Most of it is good, some of it is challenging, all of it requires reflection. My plate is so full I can't finish one post before I get distracted by another. I have three partially written essays awaiting my return.
I'm procrastinating by thinking of G'ma. Her own biggest regret after losing her own mother was that there wasn't another woman who wanted to see her grandbaby's pictures as much as she did. I'm feeling her pain right now. I've switched my screen saver to FlapJilly doing a push-up (yes, she is only 6 weeks old; haven't I told you that she is extraordinary?) and I can get lost in her eyes and her smile for much longer than is productive.
TBG comes by and smiles, but then he goes off to do other things. G'ma would, I know, sit by my side for as long as I wanted to smile back at the image on the screen. We'd have talked about everything and nothing and seeing my siblings in a certain glint in the baby's eye and the afternoon would pass with me explaining her relationship to the infant on the monitor.
"Little Cuter.... SIR... you were at the wedding....yes, you were at the wedding..... "
I can't look at the clouds in the sky without hearing her telling me how big they were and how gorgeous they were and wondering how many times she'd repeated herself but wasn't it true that they were huge and the sky wsa so very blue? Yes, Mom, it was true, and I was glad that you were in the front seat next to me to notice it.
The pod castle is expanding, according to the signage out front. I still feel The Schnozz drifting into the turning lane as I approach from the north or the south. The pull is still there, and so is the heartache.
There's nothing to be done. It's sad but not tragic. She was finished with a good, long life and it was time for her to go. She did so on her own terms, surrounded by her own stuff. She knew she was loved at the end. The funeral was a great party, one she would have enjoyed very much.
None of this makes the ache in my heart go away. I can hear her in the back of my head, telling me to get over myself and get on with my life. So, thanks for listening, denizens. I'm off to finish three posts, make dinner, take a swim and a shower and do some laundry and feel as busy as my mother would want me to be. Wallowing lasts only so long.
I don't know about wallowing, but sometimes we just need to say certain things to feel everything we needed to do was done. The blog is a good place for that; and if a reader is troubled by it, they can come back another day. Healing isn't done on a timetable. It's just good you had a good relationship with her and did all you knew to do. So you don't have to have regrets to add to the grieving.
ReplyDeleteYou are so right, Rain... the blog is a good place for that!
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I don't think of it as wallowing at all. In fact, I think she's smiling. She knows how much you love and miss her. I do believe she's with you.
ReplyDeleteI think one of the most comforting things about losing someone is you still have the memories of them. They warm your heart and help ease your pain. Losing someone is never easy; no matter if they had a long life or not. It's the hole in your heart that's hard to heal.
Sit and reflect. It's part of remembering our loved ones and there is nothing wrong with it.
Have a wonderful weekend.
Megan xxx
I'm getting better at cherishing and not missing... but it sure is hard work!
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It's not wallowing, it's missing someone. My Mom used to call me every Sunday, when I would answer the phone she would say "Hi, Honey." For years I could hear her voice in my head. Over time, that faded and the hurt faded, but I do miss her still.
ReplyDeletenice to know I'm not the only one hearing the voices of the dead in my head, Allison!
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Grieving is a long process of learning to love a person who is no longer here to love back. I'm doing it before it is even called for. I think of you often when I think of my brothers. My two remaining bros. both have dementia and one of them is in hospice and neither of them live close by. This whole life thing may be made of moments but processes seem to take on more importance as we age, don't they? Knowing the process of FlapJilly or my Grandtwins will continue when we are gone is comforting. Tears etching memories into a new reality is also comforting because those memories give comfort too.
ReplyDeleteIt's "the new reality" that gets me... stepping over the threshold into that space takes a lot of courage, I'm finding.
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