what springs brings...
"Grandpa wants to know if there is anything you might want."
How do you decide what it is you might want after someone dies? I have heard so many stories about how families become divided over money when someone passes. Or how someone's great aunt promised them a special vase and then their sister-in-law suddenly said she was promised the same and the person telling the story decides it just isn't worth it even though she was the only one in the family to come over each Saturday with daisies to put in that vase for her aunt. You know these stories.
The funny thing is though, when you have distance, when the fullness of the missing sets in, you realize all you want is one more minute with that person while they are breathing. Heck you would even be fine with one more minute with them in the funeral home. It is a strange thing to deeply understand that previous sentence.
So, when my mom called me in December of 2006 while she was visiting my grandpa and asked if there was something of my grandma's that I might want, I paused and immediately had this thought: I just want something that was really hers, that she used, that she touched, that she lived inside. I said that all I really wanted was something she had worn and wondered if the grey sweatshirt with the chickadees, the one we gave her years ago for Christmas, was still in the house. By the time I finished trying to explain, worried that I sounded so odd only wanting an article of clothing, my eyes were blurry with tears and I couldn't say anything else. The deep truth that I would never touch her again, hear her voice again, see her wear that sweatshirt again had taken over.
My mom said that there were a few things in the closet and she would check.
She called the next day. She had found the sweatshirt.
She had found the sweatshirt.
And a few other things and she was going to send them to me.
I have mentioned this before, what it was like opening the box and seeing the sweatshirt and the memories that came back to me when I saw my grandmother's blue windbreaker.
What I haven't said is that I promptly put everything into the trunk that we use as a coffee table where we keep sheets we use on the couch when we have more guests than the little guestroom holds. I could not handle looking at all of it. Seeing those clothes rocked me for a while last January. Last summer, when we started the (not-yet-finished) great cleanup/organization of 2007 (and 2008), I opened the trunk wondering what the heck might be inside it.
Crap.
Right. The clothes. For some reason, I took out the grey sweatshirt and moved it to the bottom of my pajama drawer. Then, I quickly closed the trunk. Moving on.
In October, when we moved the dresser to the family room in anticipation of the new bed with under the bed drawers (the one that pottery barn screwed up the delivery of so many times that we finally had to cancel the order and hence the stalling of the great cleanup for the last few months) and I had to clean out the drawers, I moved the sweatshirt to the top shelf of my closet.
Yesterday, I noticed it again.
Today, I took down the grey button-front sweatshirt with the chickadees on the front and put it on. I put it on and went outside to investigate what spring had brought into my world today.
I put on that grey sweatshirt that my grandmother wore whenever she was around me and my brother as if to say, "I remember. I see you. I know you love me. I love you too." I put on that grey sweatshirt and I went outside with Millie. And, I walked around the yard.
Like she would do every morning.
I walked around the yard to see what had happened since yesterday and if nature felt any different because she suddenly lived inside spring.
I put on the sweatshirt and went outside to visit with spring and to feel just a little closer to someone I will never see again.
I put on the sweatshirt to remember that she lives inside me.
This weekend, Jonny is going to put up the new hooks we bought a few weeks back to put just inside the front door. Hooks where I will hang this sweatshirt so that I can put it on each morning before I go outside to see what gifts nature has brought overnight…so that I can put it on and move forward just a bit while holding onto the best of her.
on grieving (and healing)
Reader Comments (25)
i don't quite know what to say but i don't want to go without leaving behind a hug and a thank you.
this is such a beautiful and moving tribute to your grandmother...such an amazing way to honour her and the deep relationship the two of you shared.
sending you love and hugs on this first day of spring.
xoxoxo
I have my grandfather's eye glasses and I know EXACTLY what you mean.
Happy Spring.
I understand every word you've written. I still wear some of my sister's clothes. At first they felt like a hug from her. Sometimes I wear her fragrance too, or just spray it and walk through the cloud imagining she's right there with me.
I think you'll have a wonderful time in the garden with your grandmother.
What a truly beautiful post, Liz. I am on the verge of tears myself, especially the line "I put on the sweatshirt to remember that she lives inside me" which touched me so very deeply. It's funny, the way inanimate objects can sometimes take on an entire personality, an entire PERSON even.
I have been fortunate never to lose anyone extremely close to me. I have yet to learn the fullness of this sorrow you describe, but still, I do understand as best I can. My family is strange about death and for the past few years my mother has been asking me what I'll want of my grandmother's once she is gone. I think that it's her way of preparing me (and herself) for the loss -- to start thinking and dealing with those feelings now.
In any event, every time I step into my grandmother's apartment I now think about that. What of hers will mean something to me? What objects tell her story? And furthermore, I do the same at my mother's and at a few other loved ones....I think, what about this place says YOU? What about this place says home?
Thank you so much for this amazing and touching post. Your grandmother was so lucky to have amazing you in her life (as we all are) and I'm sure that you make her proud each and every day. This morning, reading this, I find her spirit in the spring too. And mine. And yours.
All my love, sweet Liz xoxox
In the back of my closet are my Gramps' things. A blue sweatter that made his eyes looks so blue when he wore it, his cap we had made that says "Word's greatest great gramps" on it, a shirt we had made that says "World's greatest Grandpa" and has cartoons of each of his "kids" and our names below. I also have his fez from the Shrine on top of my dresser and his watch. I also own some of his tools now.
I totally get where you are coming from. THese things are sacred.
*hugs*
{{{{{hugs}}}}} I have had some strange experiences with the dividing of stuff after a death in the family. There are long stories there ... I have been very happy to give a home to treasures that nobody else wanted, or could even understand why I wanted them. You have chosen a very meaningful way to grieve, Liz, and I honor you for being brave and honest about your truth.
This post has such a healing air about it, Liz. As always, when you write of your Grandmother, and your grief at her loss, I feel deeply moved by your expression of that depth of feeling, but I do sense in this whole piece a new joy in your being able to feel close to her now - even though she is gone. I don't know if that makes sense. Blessings to you.
I think that perhaps now was the right time for this transition. Last year was not the time. You are moving forward in a loving and healthy manner. xoxoxo
i have a pair of sturdy jeans and a couple of flower printed gardening shirts that my grandmother made and last year when i started gardening for the first time ever, i wore them and as i dug my hands into the dirt, i felt close to her again. i understand this honey ... a whole lot. you have written this so beautifully that it brought warm tears to my eyes, much love, xo
That is a lovely post. I wonder if I could have your permission to copy the story, of putting your pain away until you were able to embrace it in the form of the sweatshirt, and use it with a grief group that starts in April.
That was so very beautiful. Thank you for sharing.
This was beautifully written my dear. I hope your grandmothers sweatshirt envelopes you in a big hug each time you put it on.
a.
My first ever visit to your lovely blog, and your post truly touched my heart. I lost both parents to cancer (Mom in 2000 and Dad in 2006), and over the years have moved their dear "momentos" nearer and nearer into my everyday life. It has taken time, but each one of those steps is important... I know so well how you must be feeling, and I hope that every time you put on that special sweatshirt you feel your grandmother's wonderful presence. Thank you for sharing such a personal story...best wishes, Peggi
Oh my, what a beautiful post.
My father's 81st birthday would have been this past Tuesday if he had lived on this earth more than his 63 years. I am fortunate to have many of his things, one of which is a watch that I still slip on my wrist from time to time.
Lovely memories and emotions expressed in such a profound, touching way. Bless you, dear Liz.
p.s. Love the new look of your site as well :-)
oh liz...
there was so much in this,
so much to absorb and take in...
and your tone...
is so peaceful...
hugs to you today...
Thank you for sharing your feelings in a way that helps me come to better terms with losing my step-mom this past January. It's been a precarious passing w/ mixed family feelings. I just bookmarked your blog. :-) Thanks again.
liz... that is beautiful... I was never very close with any of my grandparents but I had great-grandparents that meant the world to me.... there was a clock that sat on the top of a small black and white television in their bedroom. The clock had a small boy and girl sitting in a swing that rocked back and forth with the ticking of the minutes. I was always facinated with this clock ever since I was a baby, and when my great grandfather passed away... he gave it to me. I still have it and the little boy and girl still swing back and forth. And I think of them always.
I miss them teribly!
thanks for sharing dearest friend! how I wish we could share a cup of tea and you could show me your sweatshirt and I could show you my clock and we could smile and share stories with each other about our loved ones.
xoxoxoxo
what a beautiful loving tribute to your grandmother...thank you for sharing those very personal feelings.
Beautiful.
Your words weren't so much about grieving, they were more about healing...and so wonderfully expressed.
just having the thought that your grandmom is part of the shining light in your heart? This is a beautiful post and i love how the t-shirt kept creeping up until it was on top! and now you are wearing it...make sure to give it i hug every morning....for your gran would love you whichever way....for she is living in you! xx
Ohhhh, I can so relate to this post. I know what you mean about wanting an article of clothing that once belonged to someone you loved (and continue to love). And then wanting to hide it away...somehow the sight of it pricks the heart... I'm glad that you are now at a place where you can wear your grandma's sweatshirt and hang it up on a hook within view and feel love for and loved by your grandma.
I have my dad's red plaid heavy flannel hunting shirt. I wear it whener I need to, which is more lately than I'd like.
I can so relate to this. I can still remember my gran's smell and I just wanted the everyday things too. I think that is so wonderful, that you're doing what she used to do, going out in the morning. Sending you hugs, sweet one. Much love
I'm feeling rather weepy now--such a very beautiful post...