There’s something about hearing her name when I’m not expecting it that guts me. When people ask how things are, I’m usually, at least partially, honest. When things are okay, I lean in and embrace it and when they’re not, they’re not. I wish I could say that there are moments when I barely notice the tears quietly streaming down my cheek and others where my sobs are drowned out by the beat of the music. There are mornings when the sun still comes up and I’m pleasantly surprised at the opportunity to put on clothes and face the day and others where I wish I could will the darkness to stick around. But instead I say “We’re okay. I’m okay. Usually. And sometimes I’m not. And then that happens, so, we take it day by day.” I’m guessing we repeat that pattern for the next 50-60 years, but I only have 30 days of reference, so don’t take my word for it.
One day I was driving the car and talking to my dad on the phone and my two year old innocently asked “where’s gramma?” and then my four year old told him “she’s in heaven, remember?” and he said “oh yea, Grammas at heaven” like she ran an errand and they move on and I sit paralyzed by the beauty and absolute pain of it all. I miss her so much but every time I think that, my shoulders squeeze involuntarily and I can sense that she’s right there with me.
When I think about the act of going on with life and doing all the things expected of us on a daily basis, I’m constantly reminded that she gave us this strength. We show up because she would have shown up. We keep living and loving and laughing and breaking and building and trying and falling apart and showing up because it’s what she would have done.
As Ed Sheeran said, “I hope that I see the world as you did, cause I know, a life with love is a life that’s been lived,” so every day I try to remember to choose living in a way that would make her proud. If you want to ugly cry into your pillow case, just listen to Supermarket Flowers. I said many mean things to my sister when she introduced it to us because it’s absolutely perfect and also the worst song on the planet. Maybe everything is just a reminder that joy and grief can coexist and we need to make space for both. Maybe everything just is and that’s okay too.
Eventually I want to capture everything that happened in black and white so I don’t forget the pieces I want to hold onto, but I’m not there yet and I’m honoring that feeling. I do want to say thank you, though, on behalf of all of us. Thank you for the love, support, prayers, donations in her memory, flowers, plants, food, drinks, hugs, cards, stories, and condolences. Thank you for all of it. I hope people never stop telling us how special she was or how much they appreciated knowing her. I hope we can talk about her with ease even when our hearts are breaking in the space she left behind. I hope to write down a million memories to have for the days it’s all a little foggy. Some days, I just hope.
Until next time,
T
