Tag Archives: death

Deeply

14 Mar

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I didn’t realize I was angry.

It snuck up on me the way the ocean consumes the sand on windless day. Slowly. Inch.by.Inch.  Before I knew it, there was no place to sit….No way I could deny it’s presence.

I haven’t heard your voice in four years.  I think I miss your wicked sense of humor most.  They way you could shake me out of myself with something hilariously sarcastic..and the way I would laugh for days about it when the memory resurfaced…

How I sobbed when you left.  Strange and deep, from the pit of my soul, I sobbed.  It was unfamiliar and scary.  Honestly, I didn’t recognize my own voice.  Grief had stepped in to guide my ship. His voice interrupted mine…until  I graciously stepped aside.  I didn’t know how to navigate this path.  I didn’t want to.

However those days, and the days that followed, were strangely covered in a cloak of peace. It hung on my shoulders like a winter shawl, beautiful but painful to the touch.

I understood it was time. You were tired.  Your body to weak to fight for air.  Your lungs had failed you.

I could point wagging fingers at DNA or life-style choices….I could….but I won’t

I remember the way you would get so excited to have treasures on hand for T.  No sooner would his feet cross your threshold than you would say, “sit. I have something for you” fumbling with the remote to play back his favorite show, or pointing at the candy dish.

When our oldest S, came over to do lawn work in the spring and summer, you were thankful for his service…but you cherished the conversations shared over a soda the most.  Relaxing together as he cooled down from the summer heat, you hung on his every word.  We laughed when your calls for lawn service became more frequent.  S would grin, knowing that what you really wanted, was some of his time.  The lawn work was just a means to the end.   If S, a man of few words, shared any hint of insight into his life, his dreams, or aspirations, you held on to that nugget like it was solid gold.  Pleased and thankful that he trusted you enough to share.

You loved my boys…and they loved you.

When I hold this baby girl, this beautiful precious great-great-grandchild of yours….when I see the corners of her eyes touch the corners of her smile…I think of you.  I know you would have adored her every movement.

And…. I’m mad that she will never know your voice.  I’m mad that you won’t experience the love that circles in the air when she is around.

I’m mad that you left to soon.

I pulled out the old wooden high chair from the attic last week….the one we thought about throwing away a few moves ago but couldn’t. Couldn’t because it is the one you refinished for S when he was a baby. Who would have thought It would last another generation….as sweet baby girl ate her green beans, I couldn’t help but wipe away a few tears knowing her great-great grandma poured so much love into the seat that held her.

They say the measure of your grief shows the greatness of your love…..

I guess that is true.

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Rest in Peace Gram.  You loved and were loved….Deeply….

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Walking in the darkness

17 Nov

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I contemplated writing about my experience last week….not wanting to go there, but desperately wanting to let it out…I created this blog with the intention of quieting the voices in my head. To get the hamster off the wheel….In the end, I decided to go with what my spirit was craving. A release of emotion…so here it goes.

Last week was the absolute hardest week I’ve had to endure to date.  It started Sunday night. My cell rings, I glance down to see it is my best friend, aka sister, H.  I smile, and say “Well hello!”….what I hear back leaves me spinning.

H’s sister, happens to have the same name as I do.  Hope.  She says, “Hope, it’s Hope.”…I feel confusion rush to my face, my eyebrows squish down around my nose…Did I just hear that right?  I glance back at my caller ID….It clearly says, H.  What the hell is going on, I think…Oh please God…please……Don’t let anything happened to H.  My heart races, it is now in my throat as I wait for an answer.  I can feel my throat pulsing…She pauses.  By now I’m sure something is wrong…..I want to scream…tell me damn it!…tell me what is wrong!….Then through her tears I hear her words.

I want to vomit….I want to un-hear….I cry out…”Oh my God….Oh my God….I don’t understand…Oh my God”….My husband overhears my cries. He bounds down the stairs two at time, rushing into the kitchen.  I’m bent over, hand to my head, tears in my eyes…I see him searching my face for answers…I cover the phone  barely able to whisper what I’ve just heard.  He sinks…Slumps against the counter….

My H has lost the love of her life….Her husband, the father of her 4 children, has passed…and the world has stopped.

Every second of what follows is heart wrenching.  I fly to Indiana to be by H’s side; to help fill in the gaps where I can. Yet I’m lost. I don’t know where to start, what to do, what to say….

I.feel.utterly.powerless.

Nothing I say, nothing I can do, will turn back the clock to happier days….I glance around to the family and friends rallied to support H and the children.  She has a full house.  We are strangers, connected only by the love we share for the family….We all have the same look…With tears and mourning in our eyes, we nod with the acceptance that we are all here for the same reason…We tread lightly around each other, carefully acknowledging that we are ill equipped to navigate this bleak road of heartbreak and loss. When our eyes meet, there is unspoken realization that it will take all of us… ALL of our love, to pull them through.

By mid-week, I realized my vocabulary, the English language in general, simply does not have words that can express the sorrow in this house.  H’s sobs are from the pit of her being. They are heavy, deep, uncontrolled. I listen sympathetically. We hug gently. Patting her knee…knowing that we are helpless and hating that we are.  We can only be present…chest deep, wading through the muddy anguish with her and the children.

I want to medicate H and put her in a box for 10 years…only taking her out when the pain has stopped and the coast is clear.  But I know this pain will be part of the healing process….

I know she has to walk through this…and so I offer to hold her hand.

Please keep H’s family in your prayers.

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**Rest in peace Mark. You were a good husband, awesome daddy and a hard working provider. A genuine man with a broad smile, and a chuckle when you least expected it. I hope when you look down from heaven you see all of the love.  May your angel wings be big, bright and beautiful.  **

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