the missing
ellie jane and great (great) aunt honey
today, as i watched my daughter sit on your sister's lap, the missing caught me in its clutches. the missing. as she made the funniest sounds to get ellie jane to laugh, i began to silently will myself (with every cell) to be standing in a family room in south carolina (a family room that now belongs to another family). i thought that maybe i could just will myself to be standing in front of that rocking chair that i can just see in that photo from my first christmas. to be standing while watching you hold my daughter and purse your lips to vibrate them to make her giggle. her smile would heal you. this i know to be true. her smile would cause your heart to almost hurt with the joy you would feel in that moment when you would look up and catch my eye and we would be able to see the love between us.
in this moment, as i sit in a quiet house looking at this photo, my heart hurts with the missing. i can actually feel a pain in the middle of my chest as i sit here. the missing. almost six years. it gets softer. it becomes like the train that whistles in the distance a few times a day that is just always there but not so loud that you notice it daily or even weekly. it is just there until the moment when you are dancing in the kitchen as neil diamond sings, "she got the way to move me, cherry" and then the playlist suddenly ends and it seems so very quiet until you hear that train call from miles away and you find yourself paying attention again. it catches you. and then you notice it each time for a while.
i know (oh how i know) that i was so lucky to know you, to call you my grandmother, my friend. i see the beauty in all that time we had together. i see the beauty in today as i think about the joy in the eyes of a 91-year-old woman holding a seven-month-old little girl as she giggled. and the missing is so much softer now. but in this moment, i take a deep breath and close my eyes and i say the truth: i want more days. i want more time. i want it to have happened differently. in this moment, i wish (for you. for me. for her) that i would open my eyes and find myself in a little house in south carolina. and you would know the little girl sleeping down the hall who heals with her smile. and i would hear your voice again. in this moment, i would hear your voice.
liz lamoreux
Reader Comments (13)
mmmm....i am thinking of rebecca and melba. with the train whistling in the distance.
Sending love and comfort your way, Liz. Beautiful post.
this is so beautiful...my own grandmother turned 96 this past Christmas Eve and I know I don't have much time left with her. just the thought of that makes my heart hurt (really). here she is with my mom and my sisters. <http://www.flickr.com/photos/goshohemlock/4935733276/in/set-72157624827100236/>
i know how it feels to wish you could will them to be right with you at any moment to show you how to get that quilt stitch just right, roll out the noodles to the perfect thickness, get a tea stain out of the table cloth that she embroidered for you, ask her for advice on raising kiddos (i have 4) at least for now I still have her a phone call away. its an odd thing to have such profound joy and profound sadness taking up space beside each other in the same moment...blessings to you
here
what a beautiful tribute....
so beautifully written. xoxo
The comfort will come in some small, quiet moment when you catch Ellie doing something- like a certain expression or the way she carries herself, or...and you will see your grandmother in her.
When my son was really little he had this toy workbench. I watched him pick up a screwdriver and manipulate it to remove one of the toy screws from the bench. He did it with my grandfather's hands. I stood there mesmerized because it was pretty surreal. I lost my Gramps 7 years ago this month (25th) and it helps to know that he lives on through me and through his great grandchild. Like you, I wish he were still here. I miss him every day.
Oh you always make me cry with your beautiful words and thoughts... x
Such a beautiful post, made my heart ache for you.
My grandson is just 8 months, but I hope someday I am a grandmother who deserves such devotion and remembrance.
I feel so identified with this post, my grandma died last year. She did know my daughter but within a month and a few days she left. Cancer was the cause, I'm very grateful of all the years I got to enjoy her company, her hugs and remedies :) but every now and then I wish I have her with me, holding me and telling me everything is going to be OK. I would love to see her singing to my baby and help me to raise her, as she did with my mom and I. God act in ways we don't underestand, but that's the way life is.
I know the missing. Sitting here with tears in my eyes sending you warm hugs through the blogosphere. I hope you can feel them. I'm sure your grandmother is smiling down on your family.
Peace!
beautifully expressed Liz. "the missing is so much softer now" love that
beautiful liz, really really beautiful
thank you