A date with Grief.
Grief and I haven't gotten acquainted just yet. We haven't had time, not sure we've even been properly introduced actually.
My Mom died on March 1st. On March 2nd I flew home and the days that follow are blurry. My in-laws were here for a few days helping with the kids. I know people brought meals. I couldn't tell you what the meals were or what came from whom. I know I played a tennis match (that we won). I know I was in shock. On March 13th my kids came home from school and never went back. That's why Grief and I haven't met yet. I went from blurred shock to survival mode. Three kids at home all the time, with the rugs ripped out from underneath them. All their normal thrown out the window and for how long? And what will normal look like when we do find our footing again? Things I am still searching for answers to.
We had to find our new normal where school was on a computer or non existent if you're 4 years old. And where electronics time skyrocketed and shamefully reading time did not. But that's survival mode. It resembled a party where carbs and booze ruled. Absolutely we should have potatoes baked in heavy cream. Drinks in the driveway at 4? Sure, we'll be there. You want to stay up until 11 even though you're 4 years old? Ok, that's fine. (it wasn't fine, it didn't end well). I built a wall. On the other side of the wall was my Mom, patiently waiting. If you knew her you know patience wasn't one of her virtues.
I just didn't have time to think about Mom. I mean I think about her all the time but I didn't have time to dive any deeper than surface level for fear I might not come back up for air. Until this morning. Dan went to the office, the kids are all in camp and I am home. Alone. For the first time since March 13th. It's June 9th.
I didn't sleep well last night because mentally I had already scheduled this date with Grief and the anticipation left me restless. I got everyone where they needed to be, I went for a run and then laid on my unmade bed. I listened to voicemails. I have dozens of them. They all start the same "Hi Tootie!". Hearing her voice was nice, it was comforting. With tears running down my face I listened to them all. Messages about the cute clothes for the kids at Old Navy, one about Finley's swimming lesson videos, most of them just calling to say hi. "Just calling to chat. Call when you can, bye!". There's a disconnect in listening to her voice. I just can't believe that the person who belongs to the voice isn't here anymore. I miss talking about nothing with her. I miss it so much. I'm so glad I saved those voicemails.
I've mentioned the letter she wrote me a few times. It's about passing me the Crown. And damn do I feel like that crown is hard to keep on lately. Maybe Queens don't have to wear crowns in survival mode? In the letter, she mentions absolutely nothing about surviving a global pandemic two weeks after your mother dies. Nor does she mention the civil unrest in the country that would occur during said pandemic and how to teach my kids so they understand the gravity of it all. I was searching for footnotes or anything that would help so I reread the letter. "You make your home, you grab people to be your friends and you teach your kids about change and being good. That is the CROWN in it all. Sure, some nice jewelry helps along the way but it is the essence of your open, kind, funny soul that makes that lemonade out of those lemons." And there it was. What I needed to hear from my Mom right when I needed to hear it. My cheerleader is still here. Still with me. In me. Guiding me. "You're doing great Tootie. Just great." I could hear it.
I wrapped up my date with Grief in the shower, crying and singing "Good Morning Star Shine" (Glibby Gloop Gloopy if you're familiar) just like all good dates should end. I think our date went well. I'll go out with Grief again. I have to. It's part of the journey. Maybe I'll wear some red shoes on our next date.
My Mom died on March 1st. On March 2nd I flew home and the days that follow are blurry. My in-laws were here for a few days helping with the kids. I know people brought meals. I couldn't tell you what the meals were or what came from whom. I know I played a tennis match (that we won). I know I was in shock. On March 13th my kids came home from school and never went back. That's why Grief and I haven't met yet. I went from blurred shock to survival mode. Three kids at home all the time, with the rugs ripped out from underneath them. All their normal thrown out the window and for how long? And what will normal look like when we do find our footing again? Things I am still searching for answers to.
We had to find our new normal where school was on a computer or non existent if you're 4 years old. And where electronics time skyrocketed and shamefully reading time did not. But that's survival mode. It resembled a party where carbs and booze ruled. Absolutely we should have potatoes baked in heavy cream. Drinks in the driveway at 4? Sure, we'll be there. You want to stay up until 11 even though you're 4 years old? Ok, that's fine. (it wasn't fine, it didn't end well). I built a wall. On the other side of the wall was my Mom, patiently waiting. If you knew her you know patience wasn't one of her virtues.
I just didn't have time to think about Mom. I mean I think about her all the time but I didn't have time to dive any deeper than surface level for fear I might not come back up for air. Until this morning. Dan went to the office, the kids are all in camp and I am home. Alone. For the first time since March 13th. It's June 9th.
I didn't sleep well last night because mentally I had already scheduled this date with Grief and the anticipation left me restless. I got everyone where they needed to be, I went for a run and then laid on my unmade bed. I listened to voicemails. I have dozens of them. They all start the same "Hi Tootie!". Hearing her voice was nice, it was comforting. With tears running down my face I listened to them all. Messages about the cute clothes for the kids at Old Navy, one about Finley's swimming lesson videos, most of them just calling to say hi. "Just calling to chat. Call when you can, bye!". There's a disconnect in listening to her voice. I just can't believe that the person who belongs to the voice isn't here anymore. I miss talking about nothing with her. I miss it so much. I'm so glad I saved those voicemails.
I've mentioned the letter she wrote me a few times. It's about passing me the Crown. And damn do I feel like that crown is hard to keep on lately. Maybe Queens don't have to wear crowns in survival mode? In the letter, she mentions absolutely nothing about surviving a global pandemic two weeks after your mother dies. Nor does she mention the civil unrest in the country that would occur during said pandemic and how to teach my kids so they understand the gravity of it all. I was searching for footnotes or anything that would help so I reread the letter. "You make your home, you grab people to be your friends and you teach your kids about change and being good. That is the CROWN in it all. Sure, some nice jewelry helps along the way but it is the essence of your open, kind, funny soul that makes that lemonade out of those lemons." And there it was. What I needed to hear from my Mom right when I needed to hear it. My cheerleader is still here. Still with me. In me. Guiding me. "You're doing great Tootie. Just great." I could hear it.
I wrapped up my date with Grief in the shower, crying and singing "Good Morning Star Shine" (Glibby Gloop Gloopy if you're familiar) just like all good dates should end. I think our date went well. I'll go out with Grief again. I have to. It's part of the journey. Maybe I'll wear some red shoes on our next date.
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