she was not perfect
In fact, I often described her as crotchety (well, not to her face).
She was private to a fault, and she criticized her children too much.
She was married to my grandfather for 59 years and 7 months.
She did not have many friends; she seemed to enjoy solitude.
A gentleness began to blossom inside her when her grandchildren were born.
She could seem difficult to know, private, and distant. But not with me.
She taught me how to laugh, to be silly, to jump on the bed.
She taught me to love hummingbirds, spring, walks on the beach.
She sent me the most wonderful cards. I keep running across them in the oddest places. Stuck between books, in a random box in the garage, in a pile of old bills. I miss those little surprises in the mail. And now I realize the time and care she spent picking them out to reflect that moment in time in my life.
She gave me soft, warm socks every Christmas for the last 15 years. Every year. After she died, in her room, next to her bed, was a pair just like the ones she gave me last year. I took them and wear them all the time. Soft, fuzzy, blue ones.
We were just getting to the good part. The part where we talked like friends. She was beginning to open up...
She lost a friend in the war. She wished she would have sewn a few more oats. She wasn't sure how to tell her children that she loved them. She was on her own spiritual journey and talking about it.
The good stuff. The guts of life as I say. How much more I wanted to know. To ask. To learn.
But I am learning this...
When someone dies, the pain is deeper, wider, stronger than you thought it would be.
It does not go away; it only softens every now and then.
The loss does not make sense.
It does not matter that the person "lived a long life." The missing is still there.
Others may not have experienced this kind of loss yet; they will not know what to say to you.
Your sadness may bring up too much for others; they will not know what to say to you.
People may say incredibly hurtful things to you; that is about them and not about you.
The person who has died is still a part of you. That does not go away; you will just forget sometimes because the missing hurts so much.
I am learning that I am not alone in this world of missing. Other people have experienced this deep grief. One of my dear friends has listened to me talk on the phone for hours. Other new friends have left me the kindest comments on this blog. And others have written their own blog entries about loss. There are some authors who have spoken their truth about this subject as well and I am starting to find them and am feeling brave enough to read.
The truth is, until you experience it, you do not understand. At least I did not.
And because this is my current path, I am going to continue to write about it every now and then.
She taught me to laugh at myself as often as possible.
She taught me how to make sugar cookies.
She was critical at times. I forgave her.
She was sometimes melancholy. I understand.
She was not perfect. Thank goodness.
She taught me to love hummingbirds, spring, walks on the beach.
If a child is to keep alive his inborn sense of wonder, he needs the companionship of at least one adult who can share it, rediscovering with him the joy, excitement and mystery of the world we live in.
Rachel Carson
liz lamoreux
Reader Comments (13)
You encapsulated so much that is wonderful about the relationship between grandparent and grandchild. The acceptance. The relaxation. The openness. How fortunate you were to have each other.
And yes, I understand that kind of missing.
Melpomene, the Muse of Tragedy, is so present in your writing here. This Muse reveals suffering and tragic circumstances in order to teach and release the creativity found in compassion, forgiveness, resourcefulness, and humility. All those qualities are present in your remembrance of a great teacher of your heart. Oscar Wilde wrote: Where there is sorrow, there is holy ground.
Oh to give thanks for the love of those in our lives who teach us what really matters. Beautiful post. Thank you for sharing.
I know this is going to come across as incredibly self-absorbed, but I feel like this entry was written especially for me, as I am now dealing with the very recent loss of my grandma as well. She is one of my soulmates, and even though I had been expecting "the call" for months, the fact of her now very real absence has hit me a lot harder than I thought it would. Your entry is very beautiful and very comforting. Thank you so much for sharing this.
wow...that was so sweet and amazing..
and honest and true...
you are right when you say that
people will say the wrong things
and people will not know what to say...
you did a good job of saying.
What was your grandma's name? was it something you could name your own child some day?
beautiful liz. i have not experienced this kind of loss yet. and so i thank you for your honesty. when it does happen for me i will know i'm not alone. i will know someone to turn to when i need to know the missing is normal. thank you for sharing your missing so beautifully. blessings on you sweet friend.
Thank you all for your kind words. It is in the sharing that we find validity, strength and know we are not alone. And I think we write these words on our blogs for others as much as we write them for ourselves. The sun shines today and as I edit, I can see the hummingbirds come to our feeder...and I remember the gentleness and the kindness of others in the midst of it all. Thank you.
eeekat - Her name was janet but said like janette (her maiden name was only 4 letters and her mother liked the name janette but didn't want a long name with a short name...so funny). And I have thought about this a lot; I imagine we will use the name jane as a first or middle name if we have a girl at some point in the future...
oh.....this broke my heart and made me cry in a good way. because i agree, the loss just gets a tiny bit less every once in awhile. i haven't had someone close to me pass, but my husbands parents died within 9 months of each other (to the day) and we were only married 1 year.
this was beautifully written and spoken from your heart, thank you.
She taught me to stop and smell the roses...literally. She taught me that faith can anchor one through solitude and loss. She taught me about unconditional giving. She taught me... I understand.
oh liz elayne,
I am so moved by this post. You have captured the angst of loss so clearly, especially when you wrote, loss is always wider and deeper and goes on longer than you eer thought it would. There's no intellectualizing it with "she had a good life"-- that doesn't help the heart much at all.
bluepoppy
What a beautiful, beautiful tribute to you grandmother. I love all the things you learned from her, all the important parts of her life that resonate within you. I have yet to experience a loss like this, but am so appreciative of your bravery and honesty in sharing this. Those kinds of connections with people are rare and remarkable and I'm sure your grandmother knew that as well, felt as lucky to have you to teach and learn from.