"Mom, can you take to me to the place where Grandma is buried?"
The tears fill my eyes immediately.
"I would really like to see it Mommy," Keegers says from the back seat.
"Me too! I want to see it!" Courty pipes in.
"We haven't ever been there Mommy. Have you ever been there Mommy?"
I have to compose myself before answering. Because I don't know what to say.
I've been there once. On an icy cold December afternoon. When our tears fell and we put our hands on her coffin and said goodbye.
I've stayed away.
I've stayed away because I don't need the tangible reminder that my mom is dead.
I've stayed away because on that horrible day I convinced myself that her coffin was a magician's cabinet. That whey they closed that lid, God allowed her to slip unseen out the back.
When Dad got the tombstone with pictures, and quotes, and high heels, and trucks, and horses, and anything else that he could stick on that hunk of stone, I stayed away.
"Don't you want to see the tombstone?" Dad asked over and over in the beginning,
"I'll see it eventually, Dad. You can't live forever."
"I just can't Dad. I'm not ready."
He stopped asking.
I've stayed away, but in doing that, I've kept them away.
I try to pull myself together. I know that I'll fail. Then through the tears I say,
"Keegers, if you want to go Buddy, I can take you. Mommy just hasn't gone because it makes me sad. But if you want to see it, I will go."
"Mommy I don't want to see the statue where Grandma died. It would make me too sad," my Suttie says.
"That's fine Suttie Joe, if you don't want to go, you don't have to go."
"Maybe I do want to go Mommy," Suttie hesitantly decides.
I've stayed away because I needed to, but they don't want to stay away.
They want to go. Maybe they even need to go.
I'm still not ready.
I don't think I'll ever be ready.
But they are.
and if I learned anything from my mom, it's that we take care of their needs first.
I love the fall.
We are back to school! Keegers is a 2nd grader and Sutton is a very eager Kindergartner. Both are in soccer (and I'm even coaching! Courty is now the big girl at Mary Lou's and has personality to spare!
I love digging out the sweatshirts and fleece, going through the pants we'd packed away to see how much they've grown over summer, and I love getting back into a routine.
It's cooler and all things pumpkin are perfectly acceptable!
As much as I'm enjoying all those things...
I dread the fall.
Courtlynn and Suttie's birthdays, school pictures, visits to pumpkin patch, Halloween, Thanksgiving... those all mark the passing of time in such a concrete way.
Courty will be 3. An entire year older than Suttie was....
Suttie is in Kindergarten... reading. He was barely beginning to talk.
Keegan is... well Keegan. He's still quick as a whip and going full speed.
I adore them. I am SO thankful that I get to be their mom. I am SO thankful for every single season I get to spend with them.
But I'm still sad.
I'm sad every single time that Keegan tells me it's "unfair that we only got a little time with Grandma Cindy! You had a LONG time!"
I'm sad every single time Suttie says "Please take care of Gwandma"
and I'm sad every time Courty tells me "You don't HAVE a mom" or when she tells me that she's a "pretend grandma"
My anxiety skyrockets this time of year. I get back to doing the morbid math. The "if I die at 63.. they will be..."
But I know that's not how it works. Mom's parents were in their 80s and 90s. Dad's dad died at 53... and he's turning 68.
I'm still sad. And it's ok.
I didn't cry on Mother's Day.
I know that seems like a simple thing, but it's been a struggle to get through the last few Mother's Days without the bitterness taking over the sweetness of the day.
Instead I enjoyed the day with my gorgeous babies and played games and ate food that was bad for me and enjoyed the gorgeous flowers that Hubby brought me while Courty sang Happy Birthday.
I didn't cry on Mother's Day. It's going in the win column.
20 years ago today the lives in my little high school bubble were changed. It's no different of a story than that of pretty much every high school anywhere. There was an accident, we learned that we were NOT invincible, and our childhood fell away in that moment.
Since I started teaching I've seen that same series of events happened in just about every generation of kids.
I've seen students walking the hall carefree one day, and then paid my respects at a funeral home a few days later.
I'm 20 years older, with 20 more years worth of life than that boy. Nearly 18 more than that girl... and so on.
In that moment... it's all you can do to breathe. If you even CAN breathe. I remember getting those phone calls that took my breath away.
But slowly... ever so slowly your lungs begin to fill again.
You stop drowning in your own tears and you start to move forward.
But you never really forget.
It can be a little boy who barely remembers his grandma crying at bedtime.
It can be a date on a calendar.
It can be a run with an old friend.
And you remember. And you fight not to cry, and you remind yourself to breathe.
Because ever so slowly your lungs begin to fill again, you stop drowning, and you start moving forward.
Keegan is finishing up 1st grade. A child who had not even attended Pre-School is almost a 7-year old 2nd grader.
Suttie Joe attended Kindergarten Screening this week. A child who was just beginning to speak is now gearing up for Kindergarten.
Courty Foo Foo is potty trained. A child's whose heartbeat had never been heard is no longer a baby or toddler, but a little girl.
I can't help but watch them and SEE them. I see the amazing little people they are turning into, and can see glimpses of the amazing people they will become. They are funny and infuriating and brilliant and quick and witty and loving and infuriating... wait, did I say that already?
I know that one day... not so long ago my own mother must have watched me wondering about the person I would become.
I wonder if as a parent you ever stop watching your children with that sense amazement and awe. I want to be their mom for as long as I can. I want to be able to see where they go and who they become and what THEIR babies look like and if they look at them the same way I do now.
I want to freeze time and fast forward at the same time. I want to have these moments now, but want all those moments in the future too. Can't I have that?
It's been three years.
That is so hard for me to comprehend.
She was just here, wasn't she?
How is it possible that our lives have gone on without her?
Not just gone on, but changed so much?
Courty's entire existence is Post-Mom. She's now older than Suttie was when we lost Mom.
Keegan started school and learned to read Post-Mom. He's as old as Ky was when we lost Mom.
Suttie has gone from being the baby just turning 2 to being a rebellious 5 year old preparing for Kindergarten. Suttie still cries at night because he misses Grandma (even though I'm not sure he even really remembers her, just remembers he's sad)
Gavin and Ian are in high school.
Lindsey has had two babies Post-Mom. (and those babies made her work!)
Karri became a grandma Post-Mom.
Dalton's a dad.
Dylan's thinking about colleges.
Ky isn't the only Granddaughter anymore.
Dad has gone back to work, traveled, and even babysat. (Though he still hasn't changed a diaper, so some things never change)
So.much.has.happened.
So much.
But how could that much have happened when it still feels so fresh?
I grieve daily.
Like Dad says, the years have flown by... it's the days that drag.
Ours lives didn't stop.
Somehow that still feels disloyal.
There are 5 recognized stages of grief.
1. Denial and Isolation
2. Anger
3. Bargaining
4. Depression
5. Acceptance
Denial and Isolation
When I first got the phone call that something was wrong, I was sure that it was just a misunderstanding. She was in the shower, the cell reception was bad, the landline was down. It couldn't be anything more serious than that.
But it was. It was the most serious thing of all, and we were stuck here. Hours from home with no way to help, or no way to change it. Luckily, the isolation didn't come because I had so many people to help fill the silence. Mostly my babies. Any mother knows, that time alone is hard to come by, and my boys were there with me. A few months later, when I became pregnant with Foo Foo, I knew my mom was with me, and that baby helped keep me out of the dark hole I wanted to crawl into.
There are times that I'm still a bit in denial. I'm shocked that she's not here, and that she will never be here again.
Anger
I was never mad at God. I thought I would be, but maybe I'm just in a better place now with my faith then when I was younger. This week, my pastor spoke on grief and reaffirmed my belief that God doesn't do this to us. I believe he's there with us, grieving with us, knows that it's going to happen, but that sometimes our earthly bodies just can't go on.
Bargaining
I wanted to know why her body gave out. What happened to make this seemingly healthy woman just die. Put her head back and die? Did she stop taking her blood pressure medication? The pills were hard for her to swallow. Did she stop taking them because of that? What if we had gotten her smaller pills? Would it have mattered? She had a headache the weekend before and missed work? What if we would have forced her to go to the doctor? Was she in heart failure? Could they have caught it? But her cardiologist told Dad that even if she had been in a hospital, there was nothing they could have done to save her.
Depression
I am still SO overwhelmingly sad about her absence. I cried the last night of vacation because she wasn't with us. I knew how much she was missing out on, and how much my babies were having to miss out on. I saw a therapist for a while, but I just got tired of it. I feel like I should be "over it" or at least be a little more ok with it.
Running became my therapy. I do it to try to keep myself healthier, so that maybe it will be around longer for my babies, than my mom was for me. It also helps me clear my head. I never thought I would be addicted to it, but I can feel the tension building in me when it's been too long since a run.
Acceptance?
I accept that she is dead. I saw her body. I felt my soul being torn from my body in that instant. But I don't think accepting it will ever mean that I'm ok with it.
But what about this other stage I'm in now? It's not healthy, but where does it fit? I've tried to pull myself out of it, I know it's not right but it's there and I don't know what to do about it. For me, the sixth stage of grief is
Jealousy
I've become some sort of morbid mathematical savant. It happens when I watch the news, read the paper (especially the obituary section), or log in to Facebook. It usually goes something like this.
Status update: We just celebrated Mother/Grandmother/Auntie/etcs 75th/85th/95th birthday. Even when I am happy for them, my mind is doing the math. Their loved one is 12/22/32 years older than my mom got to be.
How is that fair? Is it Anger that I'm feeling? Because it definitely feels like Jealousy. I'm not angry that their loved one is still here, I'm jealous that mine is not.
It's not healthy. It's not fair to those who are blessed to still have their loved ones here. I know people who lost a loved one decades before who still struggle. Is this ugly green monster my new reality? Is this how I have to live now? Running helps, but I don't know how many miles I have to run to get that out of my head. Are there enough miles?
