My three year old is asleep. My six year old is tossing a baseball to himself in my parent’s living room, side stepping baskets of dying flowers. My father is away, following up with the tasks of an executor. And I am sitting at the dining room table, surrounded by recently printed off pictures of my mother.
But there is one new addition to our family here too. It has slipped suddenly into our lives while the reality of my mother’s passing sinks in. This new member is grief.
When I first stepped back into my parent’s house, only a day after my mother was found here, grief was looming and effusive, filling every space. While I sat on her bed, it wrapped itself around me and held on tightly. Breathing seemed impossible.
But then the tasks of death pushed grief into the shadows for a time. Tasks almost as horrendous as grasping the concept that my mother is gone. Grief waited though and wound itself back around my heart during the most unexpected moments until I was able to beat it back again. We all had so much to do.
I was asked how I found the strength to speak at my mother’s funeral. Well. All of it, everything we’ve had to do has been horrifying and equally difficult to do. Finding an appropriate funeral home. Picking out an urn. Picking out a cremation casket. Discussing the process of embalming. Picking out her last outfit. Slipping on her wedding ring. Doing her last load of laundry, washing away her scent from her clothes. Cleaning her last dishes in the sink. Searching through her pictures, looking for her face before I forget any of it. Writing her obituary. Informing her friends and neighbors. And speaking besides her open casket at her funeral.
All of it. Equally horrifying. And equally impossible – however absolutely necessary – to do.
Grief slinks back into the corner more often as the days go by. But it is always there. Waiting for a peaceful moment. Waiting for me to find some trinket of hers or for some memory to come rushing back. Waiting for me to drive her car and see her hands – my hands – on the steering wheel. Grief finds its opening. It slips back over my shoulders, holding me close, muffling out the world, overwhelming my senses, until sadness flows through my soul, oozes back out of my body and ebbs again.
I’m getting used to it being there. As I am getting used to her death. I have become familiar with the cycle grief assumes in my day to day life. It must process through. I can’t do much else other than brace myself, wait for it make it’s mark and move along. It always does.
However we are desperately grateful for our best booster against grief – my mother’s greatest acheivement: her grandchildren. Their laughter, their games, their wonder, their constant expectation of regularity push grief further away and into a very small place where we can all watch it from the corner of our eyes. Children allow us to cope and move forward. Children officially prove to us that the world keeps spinning and her love lives on through them.
While my three year old continues to nap, I am off to start the process of clean up. We certainly don’t want to scour this place of my mother’s presense (we will never be ready for that), but its time to throw away her toothbrush, her recently purchased make-up, pack her hair brushes, toss out that last cigarette butt of hers and wash her ashtray, put away her bedside items, discard her overly worn slippers and store her clothes. All of it is equally horrifying, with grief nipping at my heels and my son tossing his ball in the air amoungst the flowers and pictures in the living room. Onward.
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23 comments ↓
Praying for you and your family. I am so sorry for your loss and pain. Unfortunately, grief will never go completely away but you do learn to move on and remember the joy. And when it creeps up again, let yourself cry your aching heart out!
My heart breaks for you. You continue to be in my thoughts and prayers as you move through this most difficult time.
I keep wishing I could be there to give you a good tight hug. It’s so important to allow yourself to be sad or even mad that you don’t have her any more, in the end you’ll be left with the memories and she’ll live inside your heart and in the smiles of her grandchildren. Take care.
My heart aches for you. I am at home, and tears fall for you… “mourn with those who mourn”… And as you journey through to a point of being able to rejoice again… someday…(“…Onward…”)… I want to share that with you too. Bless you for your words and opening yourself so deeply to us here… Prayers and love…
I’m so sorry Caroline. Thinking of you lots. xoxoxo
Sending you big hugs.
Sending you tight hugs. My thoughts are with you and your family.
Your words are so powerful, allowing me to feel your grief within me. I’m so sorry that you and your family have to go through this grief. You are right though, your mom lives on in you, your brother and her grandchildren. Keep the happy memories alive by telling your children stories about her.
My thoughts and my prayers remain with you and your family through this difficult time. The grief will remain there for a while but it will get easier everyday.
God Bless you all!
Love to you sweety. Your mom is definitely living on through those precious boys. I hope you find it a little easier to breathe soon. Wish I could take some of the pain for you for a little while.
xoxo
Dallas
Love you, C. Let’s talk soon.
So beautifully written. You summed up what my husband dealt with when his sister and dad died. Grief still wields her head at unexpected moments. That has been the hardest for Todd. And you are so right about the magic of little children. Love and hugs to you.
I am so very sorry for your loss. I’m there too, and it’s so, so hard. Try to be patient and gentle with yourself.
And you just keep putting one foot in front of the other, because you have to.
Loving thoughts for you.
Just wanted to let you know I am thinking of you.
I’m so sorry about your mom’s passing. How amazing that you found the strength to do the horrifying, impossible yet necessary. Blessings for you and your family…
I’m so sorry, Caroline. You write beautifully and I hope you find comfort in your own words. I wish I could jump through my computer and wrap my arms around you and squeeze so hard the hurt would go away. You are in my thoughts and prayers.
I’m so very sorry for your loss and wanted to let you know that I’m thinking of you.
You are being featured on Five Star Friday –
http://www.fivestarfriday.com/2009/08/five-star-fridays-edition-66.html
I came over from Five Star Friday. Thank you. This is a heartbreakingly beautiful testament to your love for your mother. I will be there someday. We all will. Thank you for showing me what it is like.
Such eloquent words you’ve used to describe something so inexplicably painful. I’m so sorry for your loss.. I pray that that grief will get smaller as time goes on and that the fondness will outweigh the sadness as you remember her.
Your post will be discussed on FiveStarFriday Live this evening at 10pm CST.
http://ustream.tv/channel/fivestarfridaylive
So very sorry to hear about your loss. Hugs to you and your family.
With tears streaming down my face, you put into words what I have felt since my mother’s unexpected death this June. I, too, have two small children, one of whom is only one and will never remember her grandmother. You are absolutely right about everything you said, and it is a blessing to know that others grieve as I do, pushing it aside to take care of everyone, and then letting it hit me when I least expect it. Thank you for your words, and I am praying for you and your family.
My sister and I lost our mom 2 weeks ago to cancer–she was 56. She was our best friend, our “mommy”. We have found so far that our children are the sole purpose for even being able to get out of bed in the morning, that they are the sole reason to want to go on each day. My daughter is 11 weeks old; mom was able to hold her for 3 precious weeks, know her for 9. The feelings of emptiness, helplessness and all-consuming pain are like a black cloud that is forever looming over both of us. We have been searching for answers and also for the ability to connect with someone–anyone, who “gets it”. Your words have touched that part of my soul that has been so lost and in reading them I saw our family for an instant. I know that you are struggling to find the ways to heal…as are we. Thank you for sharing your personal experience with losing your mom–you have taken some of the lonliness from my own grief. My mommy loved her grandchildren with every ounce of her being, and for that she will live forever.
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