Grieving. What is there really to say? It is horrible, dark. But, I have found that there is a lot to say. I've never had to grieve for someone before, not really. Looking back, I know the grieving started long before her death. Every day of worrying about her, wishing I could make things different, watching the pain and suffering...that was all full of grief. I had to stay strong, though, for her and for me and for our family. Going on and keeping our lives moving in the midst of the nightmare was so important.
When she finally passed on, there was almost no feeling. It was surreal that my powerful, independent, ferociously loving mother could be gone from the planet. Where did she go? Was she still with me as she always said she would be? Others cried and wanted to provide comfort. I couldn't accept their emotions; I wasn't ready for comfort and felt awkward showing the weakness of my heart.
When my 90-year-old grandfather died nine months later, it seemed peaceful and right. It was easy to mark his passing; he had lived a full and vibrant life with so many children and friends. My little daughter kept saying, "I wish my Grandma was lucky like Grandpa Gene."
So now, over a year later, the grieving seems more poignant, more piercing. There are days when I think of her only in abstraction (each chime of the grandfather clock says her name) and others, like today, that I can't stop the guilt and sadness from seeping into everything. Why hadn't I been able to be a better daughter?
In her untrained, innocent way my daughter prays for her each night before bed and at breakfast every morning. My son seeks her comfort when his feelings are hurt, crying, "I want Grandma! I wish Grandma was here." There is no answer for this; I can only hold him and rock.
Grieving still. Standing vigil for her memory. Wishing for peace.
