Remembering there is light even in darkness

It's been almost four and a half years since hard grief visited. A Grandma then, a Grandma now.

I fear I do not wear this well. Misdirected anger, unpredictable tears, and then periods where I'm perfectly fine. Really, entire days in which loss is integrated and I go about my business like a normal person. I dip caramel apples and listen to music and laugh with friends. And then I'm blown over by emotion once more.

I rage against traffic and people I deem stupid and the spider I caught creeping in the spare closet. "Son of a nutcracker" is employed regularly. I save more colorful language for my mind's running commentary.

I cry over the shock of losing Grandma, the kindness of friends, song lyrics, messed up plans, and the knowledge that none of my grandparents will attend my brother's wedding this weekend. I eat handfuls of candy corn, Brach's Autumn Mix to be precise, until the edge is sated.

This surprises me, even though I know my tendencies and even though I'm a certified thanatologist. I didn't think it would be like this, this time around.

Nighttime is the worst. The insomnia I laid to rest four years ago has returned. I'm drunk on sleep when it appears, craving a few more minutes of rest. Most nights I sit in bed and play Russian roulette with the clock. At what time shall I try to go to sleep? How long should I toss and turn?

I look at the empty space of flat bedding next to me and wish someone was there to comfort me. I haven't woken myself up from crying yet but the ache about did me in when it happened four years ago.

For someone who prides herself on usually knowing what to say and how to say it, there are moments when I can't quite explain the contents of my heart.

So much about four years ago is different from what I face now. Different losses, different relationships, different me.  But elaboration on any of these would require a glass of wine, a lengthy friendship between you and I, and time spent face to face, at the very least. Or two out of the three if I'm feeling generous.

However, if you somehow procured a Black Thai Tea Latte from Caribou, I'd be putty in your hands.

In the meantime, I process through this goodbye one day at a time, one piece at a time. And hope that sleep will bless me tonight.

(I promise not all of my posts will be grief-related from here on out. Thank you for indulging me.)

I'd said my final goodbye only an hour earlier but when I walked into the house, my eyes automatically went toward the kitchen and my ears strained to hear her voice or chuckle. I knew she wouldn't be there but then again, I didn't.

An hour wasn't enough time to let the finality sink in.

In many ways, we'll be saying goodbye again and again as the days and months unfold. Grief sneaks up on us that way, as we find moments that they should be there for or wonder what they'd think. Right now it's fresh, an open wound.

I'd never been in their house without her presence. He might go to the gym or see a friend, while she read a book or worked on needlepoint.

I had to mentally pause as I slipped my shoes off by the door. I had to pause and remember. And even though I joined everyone at the table and munched on a cookie for lunch, I kept pausing.

The evidence filled the house: this was an unfinished life.

The bookmark placed in the Mary Higgins Clark mystery, a couple of other books waiting on the living room end table. Envelopes found filled with pictures of the grandkids, perhaps to be distributed to us this Christmas.  A needlepoint half completed, the very one she'd worked on Sunday, the day our lives all changed.

He's now charged with unloading the dishwasher and starting the coffeemaker. He must learn how to fill out a deposit slip and decide whether the crease in his pants is important enough to keep ironing. In so many ways, she took care of him. Who will fill that void?

I sat at the table as Aunt Kathy paged through the photo albums and I heard stories for the first time. This whole new side of Grandma came to light and I only wished she was there to join in the laughter.

I think back to the last time I saw her, way back in July. A family party no one expected me to attend but I drove straight there from Nashville. I don't remember the conversation, only the circle of chairs in the backyard of Brian's house. I remember how she wasn't home when I called on her birthday. Now there are no more chances.

I question. Oh, how I question.

Did she know that I loved her? Did I do enough to be a good granddaughter? Why was this her time? Why did we have to make a choice in a hospital room? Why does that have to be my last memory?

We face my brother's wedding and Thanksgiving and Christmas and all the other future milestones. With each one we will be forced to accept her absence.

I am grandmotherless now. I cannot comprehend that neither will witness the outcome of my dreams. I hope my life will speak to their legacy.

There is no way to tie a bow around this package. It is unrelenting, unwieldy, and demands my attention. So I will process this goodbye one piece at a time. Even then, my grief will not be something to manage and then store on a shelf. But over time, I hope the tears lessen and the memories comfort.

I'm still my grandmother's granddaughter, even if she's not here. Today, I will remember.

Grandma and her first grandbaby: me!

I had prayed it wouldn't come. I didn't want my phone to ring yesterday until 5 or 5:30 and only then with an update that things were better.

AC/DC's Thunderstruck filled my ears as I pulled into my best friend's driveway. I fished out my phone, trying not to guess who it would be. I saw the name and I saw the time and I knew I didn't want to answer.

"I think you need to come," she said.

I stumbled over words and questions, a reaction I can't define. I stumbled into Tracy's house in shock, unsure of what to do first other than cry. Then I rummaged through my house for clothes, grabbing books and my laptop and all manner of things because I do not know how long I'll be in my hometown. Maybe a week, maybe less.

And yet, I still managed to forget to bring a coat for Illinois' chilly October. I didn't think to grab my running shoes either. Though, given that my knee has been recuperating, this makes more sense.

I wonder what else I've forgotten.

We will not receive a longed for anecdote to add to our family history. Instead we inherit a story that we will grapple with over the coming days and months.

It's still not my story to share though it will be unfurled here eventually.

For now I am carried by your prayers and by the reminder of God's nearness. He is near, He is good, He is faithful.

***

I managed to preschedule a few posts before all this went down. They don't have anything to do with current circumstances but I plan to let them go live as scheduled. I appreciate this community more than you know.

When the call comes, the one you never want to receive, you sense it.

Maybe the odd time of day, the crackling silence before they speak, or the name that infrequently pops up on your Caller ID.

You don't know what the caller will say but you know you don't want to hear it.

It's different each time.

Someone died. Another has cancer. A miscarriage. Laid off.

No matter the reason, our minds run down the rabbit trail of "what if" and "how could this happen" and "what are we going to do."

This time around I plunged into the murky depths of despair. I wished I hadn't answered the phone, that the words would be taken back.

I didn't know what to think or how to feel.

I hung up, unable to process the news because I was not home at the time. But I prayed and asked a few to pray as well. Then these past 24 hours, I did what I often do when I face the unwanted: I rage and rationalize internally, I put on a comfy sweater, I eat copious amounts of candy corn, I battle insomnia, I fight tears.

We wait and wait and wait. There is not any resolution, not even now.

And yet, it is not my story to tell. Should we receive the desired outcome, it will be an anecdote. That one time that we worried and prayed and waited.

I can't bring myself to think of the alternative.

The phone shouldn't ring with any updates the rest of the evening. I don't expect to hear anything until tomorrow.

Should the phone ring any sooner, I'll be transported to that moment Sunday night when the name flashed across and I knew no good would come from answering.

Sleep will be long in coming so I've fixed myself Rice Pudding for a late-night snack. I'm not sure I've eaten it before but it sounds comforting.

I'm in need of comfort tonight.

Linking up with Heather from The EO's Just Write as we free write our ordinary and extraordinary moments.

How do you deal with bad news?

There are a lot of babies in my life but most of them dwell far, far away in Illinois.

I joke with my friends that I'll be the one taking their kids out for their first tattoos and listening to anything they can't tell their "lame" parents. But truthfully, I'm in awe of their children and their love for me.

I get to be Auntie Leigh by phone and have face time once or twice a year. It's certainly not enough for my liking. Especially when they're too young to remember who I am.

On the other hand, I have lots of face time with my niece-in-love Anna.

When she was born and especially once I moved to Nashville, I told everyone that my goal was to be her favorite Auntie. She has real aunts, of course, but Aunties are in a different category.

Watching her grow up, day to day and week to week, has been a treat. Hearing the evolution of how she says my name has been an even bigger treat. We've graduated from "Aa Ee" to "Aunt Whee."

Maybe it's the way Joel and Tracy seamlessly adopted me into their family or the times I've babysat her or just the sheer number of hours I've camped out on their window seat with a book or my laptop.

But I'm pretty sure I've won the Favorite Auntie contest.

Most afternoons I head over to their house to work on my WIP or blog posts for awhile. Something about getting out of my house helps me stay on task. We joke that the window seat will be in the acknowledgment section of my novel.

While Anna sleeps, I type away. If I'm still there when she wakes up, she'll patter down the stairs and run toward me for a hug. She might bring me fake ice cream or a teacup. It's a fairly good routine.

Wednesday night Tracy called me as I was heating up dinner. I babysat for someone else that day and was unable to sit at my usual perch. She told me when Anna got up for her nap, she came downstairs and hauled herself up on to the window seat. She grabbed a book and said, "I want to be like Aunt Leigh."

My heart melted!

Then Anna got on the phone and told me the story in the way only toddlers can. There's so much to love about this girl and Wednesday's dream of being like Aunt Leigh. All the cool kids read books while sitting on window seats, after all.

As I write this, I'm sitting on the window seat. Anna has just bequeathed her baby doll and blankie to me while she plays in another room. Sounds like it's time to join her.

Any honorary nieces and nephews you'd like to brag about?