april 12

A year ago today, I lost one of my dearest friends. My grandmother. As the flowers bloom everywhere, as Spring reminds me that the circle of life continues, as I give myself the space to grieve and laugh and cry, as I wish with every fiber of my being that I could hold her hand, as I say with conviction that the pain is not any less, as I cannot believe that I have not talked to her in over a year, as I wish I could rewind and hear her laugh loudly, as I remember that through the grief her death invites me to experience I might be finding myself, I put the words I read at her funeral out into the world once again.

I had some time in the Atlanta Airport to write down a few things that mean Grandma to me. Grandma is:

the smell of Pond's Cold Cream, hummingbirds, walks around her yard as she points out what is growing and blooming, knee-high nylons rolled down around her ankles and cropped pants before they were back in style, cranberry juice, cherrios stuffed with peanut butter to make little tiny sandwiches, stubbornness, jumping on the bed, walks on the beach in the early morning so you could find the best shells, a book lover, always there when I need to laugh, cry and cry some more, chasing each other around the kitchen to put ice cubes down each other's shirts, beautiful, Spring, lily of the valley, forsythia, little notes in the mail, sugar cookies and date pinwheels, sloppy joes, trips to one price clothing, how she always remembers the littlest things you like-for me-warm socks, riding Big Thunder Mountain Railroad, when I call - Grandpa saying "I bet you want to talk to your Grandma" and then her voice saying "hello," sitting outside in the sun drinking pink lemonade, my oldest friend, crotchety at times but also honest, dependable, and silly and that sense of humor and indescribable strength, a safe haven, my mom saying "your Grandma is a bit of a stinker," so very smart, how proud she is of her children and grandchildren, gardening, the moments when her patience could be infinite - her children may not have seen this but her grandchildren did every now and then, cooking tips, relationship advice, how important the birthdays of others were to her, her amazing memory, her smile. A wife, mother, grandmother and friend. We all have our own memories and these are just a few I could let myself reflect on. I think something we all know is that with Grandma, what you see is what you get. She was always Real and didn't shy away from her convictions.

A Storyperson by Brian Andreas
Landscape of the Heart
It is still so new and all we see is the empty
space, but that is not how it is in the landscape of the heart.
There, there is no empty space and she still laughs
and grapples with ideas and plans
and nods wisely with each of us in turn.
We are proud to have known her.
We are proud to have called her friend.

Thank you Grandma.
Thank you for teaching me and for always, always being you.
Now Grandma, listen closely. Your husband wants you to know how much you are loved. By him, by your children, by your grandchildren, and your friends.

Peace to you my friend.

traveler

Today I miss Traveler.
My dear golden friend who passed away in February.
He taught me how to love. How to open my heart and let my life be something I never thought it would be.
Me. Someone who was just a little afraid of dogs. Suddenly "I am rescuing a golden." I knew that something had to shift. He was the catalyst.
A woman from the rescue called and said she had read my application and that Traveler had found his forever home.
He helped me to create space in my heart. Space to love and know that I could be loved. Unconditionally. Space to learn to love myself. Space for J. to come into my life.
I miss how he would jump up on the bed with me every morning. J. would take him out while I stayed in bed. Then after eating, Trav would climb up into bed with me and curl up in the crook of my bent knees. He would rest his head on my leg and sigh. I miss that.
This time last year we were doing everything we could to fight cancer. My grandparents were both sick - my grandfather with cancer and my grandmother was becoming ill. A dear friend was diagnosed with cancer. Then another friend. Then another. Then Traveler wasn't feeling well and I sat there in total bewilderment when they said that he had cancer too. It seemed beyond unfair. And the only thing I could control was that we would do all that we could for him. To cure him. To make his life a little better.
But he passed away. And in a way I know he gave me a gift. I started to grieve. I had glimpsed grief so that when my grandmother died I had some frame of reference. Some understanding of the crazy, empty, irrational, heart-slowing feeling that the death of someone creates.

And yes we have another golden child. Millie. Another rescue dog. With a little more baggage (so she fits right in). I am learning from her as well. Sometimes she jumps up on the bed and rests her head on my leg and sighs. And it feels like all might be right in the world for that brief moment.

But I can't help but wish that J. would come home one day and say "hey, look who was outside in the backyard." And there would stand Traveler, squeaker toy at his feet, ready to play.

(a thank you to Maureen for writing such a beautiful post about her dog Sam - encouraged me to spend some time with Trav's memory today)

missing you

I have been dreaming about you. Over the last few weeks.
Sometimes you know that you are gone. Other times, I have to tell you. Always there are tears.
Early this morning, I had one of the ones where I have to tell you.
I woke up crying.
I hate that this is true.
Some days the realization that you are gone tiptoes across my heart. I take a deep breath and I go on.
Other days I am completely shocked. The remembering pulls me out of wherever I am. I am sucker-punched. I cannot breathe.
For the first time, I am trying to let the tears really come. To feel the deep, wide, sharp pain.
Before your death I thought I understood grief. I did not. At all.
This morning, I suddenly found myself crying in the shower. The tears falling as the water rushed over my body. With the sobs I began to shake. My knees bent and I curled up into a ball. The water pounding my back.
It is the need to breathe that brings me back from the tears.
So I breathe.
But still, the missing. I did not know it would be like this. I did not know how it would be, but this, this is so much pain.
I want to talk to you. I want to hear your voice.
I want to touch you. Take your hand as we walk around your yard. Brush your hair. Read to you. Drink pink lemonade together. Laugh with you. Solve problems. Argue about anything. Kiss your forehead.
I want you to be there. And that is a part of me that is really really angry that you are not.
But mostly, I am just sad.
Today was our first day with sun in quite a while.
So I took Millie and went outside. We stood in the sun.
I did this because I knew if we talked on the phone later today. If we could. You would say, "I saw that you had sun today. Did you get outside?"
Yes. Grandma. I stood outside in the sun. Listened to the chickadees. Watched Millie chase squirrels. Looked for four leaf clover. Thought of you.
And even though when I wake up and realize that my dreams are true. That you are gone. That I can't call. That I can't visit. Even though I cry when I wake up. Please don't stop visiting me.
I see your face, with every line. I see your hair, white. I see you. My friend.
I hug you. And I feel you hug me.

my oldest friend

six months ago today my grandmother, my oldest friend, passed away. every day since then i have missed her desperately. every day has been another day when i cannot talk to her, when she won't call, when i can't tell her that the hummingbirds are still here in October!, when i can't say thank you, when i can't laugh with her, when i can't ask her advice, when i can't call her to cry and she will say it will be okay, when i can't hear her voice or smell her or hug her...

this is my first experience with deep grief, deep sadness. this year has been the year when i began to truly understand. i lost my dear golden traveler in february, my grandmother in april, and a friend in june. a year of cracking open. a year of understanding that platitudes are never really helpful, they just make the other person feel better. and just when you think the grief has become softer, something will whisper across your heart and it will still seem unbelievable. i do the best i can. all i can do.

at my grandmother's funeral, i quoted Brian Andreas:

Landscape of the Heart

It is still so new & all we see is the empty space, but that is not how it is in the landscape of the heart. There, there is no empty space & she still laughs & grapples with ideas & plans & nods wisely with each of us in turn. We are proud to have known her. We are proud to have called her friend.

(photo: me and grandma circa 1978)