Tag: grief

Legacy

Originally posted 10/31/2020

I have so much to write about my sweet grandmother, but in the past few weeks, I have found myself at a loss for words. How do you summarize such a long, full and meaningful life? How do you properly honor the memory of someone so dear? There are so many stories that are swirling in my mind as I think of her, remember her, and try to make sense of how a life so well lived could end the way it did—dark, struggling to breathe and alone. The biggest ache of the difficulties of this year for me is that she was alone. We knew, and we couldn’t be there.

But, that is not her legacy. Her life well lived need not be remembered by the last few dark hours. I wanted to be there for her—but I also wanted to be there for me. Thankfully, that fact doesn’t change the years that I had with her, the memories that we made, and the stories I have to tell.

When my grandfather first passed away, Grandmom and I talked a lot about how she was coping with him being gone. She wrote about it in much of the writing she did in the few years following his passing. She took writing classes offered by a woman she went to church with to help her to put her thoughts into words. There were moments we were talking when she asked me if I thought she was crazy as she described those late night and early morning moments between sleeping and waking that she saw him, felt him, smelled his aftershave. She told me that they talked sometimes—because she needed him to help her figure out how to do things on her own. When it came time for her to move into town, while she knew that it was the right choice because she couldn’t take care of the house and land on her own, she told me that she was afraid that he wouldn’t come with her. But, of course, he did. Memories of him traveled with her everywhere. Talking with him continued to help her navigate all the new things she was dealing with after he passed.

In the last few years of her life, her stories were a mix of sweet memories and frustration. She missed him so much, continued to share more and more stories of their life together, and she told me that it was never their plan for one of them to grow old alone. They did everything together—aging and end of life were supposed to be included. She also talked about how the journey through his illness and death and learning how to live life alone strengthened her faith in and reliance on God. She was honest about her sadness, hurt, and at times anger over being alone—but she also knew that she wasn’t truly alone. God was with her and was strengthening her and equipping her through the process.  She talked about growing in ways that she never thought she would. Grandpop, though he was a man of faith, never felt comfortable in church. He was self-conscious over his lack of formal education and was not one who liked small talk or interacting in groups. Grandmom enjoyed getting involved in her church when she moved to town; helping in the office, going to Bible studies, and taking the writing classes. She helped with the church bazaar, went to women’s groups (which she called “widows’ groups” as they were all older and had all lost their husbands), and helped with the annual apple butter making day. It was a part of her that she hadn’t grown or developed much in her adult life.

Legacy is a strange thing with so many parts. The good, the bad, the lovely, and the ugly all have their place and play a part. As Kermit the Frog (the best Bob Cratchit of all time) says, “Life is full of meetings and partings; that is the way of it.” The times in between make the parting so difficult and the memories so sweet. There will never be enough words, and words will never be enough.

Thanks for reading! 😊 EW

Grief and Grieving

Originally posted 10/5/2020

Welcome back to another Mental Health Monday. Today’s topic is grief & grieving. When the phone rings at a time that you typically don’t see, you know that the news can’t be good. This was my Thursday morning. At 4:12AM, my phone rang. As soon as I saw that it was my mother, I knew the news that I was likely to hear. My grandmother had taken a sharp turn toward the end of her life. My mother was on the way to her nursing home to be with her. I was immediately fully awake and was making plans to rearrange the day to head that way as well. At 4:39AM, my phone rang again. It was too late. My grandmother had passed before my mother arrived. We talked for a few minutes, cried, and agreed to talk again after she had finished the business that needed to be done at the nursing home. By the time we spoke again at 6:15AM, it had fully sunk in. My sweet grandmother was gone. And I wasn’t able to be there. Death is hard. Death during a pandemic is even harder. I hadn’t seen my grandmother since a few days after Christmas due to pandemic restrictions. The things put in place in an effort to keep her safe meant that she died alone. I am extremely grateful to the staff of the nursing home who cared for her, loved her, and were there for her when we couldn’t be. They could not have been more amazing in their care, and in keeping my mother informed over the past 7 months. They are superheroes.

Grief is a strange thing. It is a huge mix of emotions that, at times, feel like they shouldn’t be possible at the same time. Crushing sadness and intense celebration should be mutually exclusive, but somehow, they aren’t. Somehow, grieving allows those thoughts and feelings to all happen at once, sometimes with equal intensity.

Words can’t express how thankful I am that she is no longer sick, no longer missing my grandfather and longing for him, no longer confused and sad. I am thankful that she doesn’t need the neck collar that she dutifully wore for 5 years for a neck fracture that her aging bones couldn’t heal. She is well, and I celebrate that! I celebrate the years that I had with her, the memories that we made, the stories that she told, and the lessons I learned from her. I will continue to share those memories and lessons with pride.

Words also can’t express my sadness. There are no more memories to be made, only previous ones to be shared. No more hugs, hands to be held, comfort to give or receive. I wasn’t there, and I so desperately wanted to be. Every time she has been sick for the past 6+ years, I have been there. This time I wasn’t—and I hadn’t been in months. I took time off from work to spend time with her over those years, trying to visit at least monthly to soak up all the time and memories I could. The pandemic had other plans. I didn’t want her to be alone in the final moments of her life—but that wasn’t a choice that I got to make.

Grief is strange. I long to have something to do, some sort of death related business that will bring closure or feel like I’m engaged in the process in some way. That doesn’t really exist. Plans had been made ahead of time, so now we wait until those plans have been carried out. In the midst of the emotions, it is difficult to keep the perspective that death is a regular occurrence—a part of life. The business of death is a fairly smooth operation to those outside of the emotion. I am grateful for those people as well. The business of this would not be smooth if the steps were up to me. In this moment, I am walking in a surreal fog. It feels as though I am out of step with the rest of the world, like I am living in a different reality or that time is moving at a different pace for me than those around me. Clinically, I know that is normal and a part of the grieving process. Personally, it is extremely tough—even as I know that I will get through it.

The emotions of grief—all of them—are real. They are valid. They are to be experienced as they come and for as long as they come. We don’t honor the person who left us by pushing off grief. We honor them by experiencing it, trudging through the good and the bad, and finding ways to be true to the memories, the legacy, and the person in the midst of our grief.

Thanks for reading! EW