How do you cope?

[Missy]

My grandmother died last month. She was 88 years old and, logically, I understand that this was the "natural order of things". But, she was the most **alive** person I knew. She was still driving, still taking exercise classes at the Y, still helping the "elderly folks" (her words) in her community. She was teaching my daughter how to sew and crochet. She learned to use the computer when she was 86, and, when my youngest was very sick with multiple food allergies, she learned to use the internet to research allergies and vaxes so she could really understand what he was going through. My extended family came down this wkend to clean out her apartment and now my little house is filled with her stuff and it hurts b/c I don't want this stuff--I just want my grandmother!! I don't think I should still be crying every day, but I truly can't grasp that this woman is so completely gone from my life.

If anyone has any coping skills (beyond "she's in a better place..."), I really need them.

This is something I wrote, to try to cope, to honor her...

My friends always said, they’d never met anyone like you.

You’ve always said what you think, you curse without apology—and you love unconditionally. You’ve fought for complete independence at an age where most people are giving it up. And when the independence was gone, you were too. No hesitation. No prolonged farewells. It was, you said, a good life.

You always seemed to know my heart before I did. I’ve found your letters and, after skimming one, found them too difficult to read right now. They hurt more than the memories, these concrete examples of love. But I can shut them away. I can’t close off the images pounding my brain; I can’t tune out your voice. I ache with knowing I’ll never feel your touch again or hear you laugh when my baby learns a new word. I won’t be able to show off my most recent articles and you won’t be able to teach my daughter how to sew.

Some part of me must have believed that you were strong enough to withstand even death because I cannot wrestle with the idea of you…gone. It’s not within my realm of comprehension. You’re my reality, my anchor, my constant. I know I said good-bye, I know I said it was okay to go—but it wasn’t and I miss you.

***

Thanks for listening.
Missy

[Joyce in the mts.]

Oh...I am so sorry that this has happened, but...I do know that feeling of wishing and thinking that grandmas and grandpas would go on forever as they seem to for a long time, while knowing intellectually it cannot be so.

And having the things around. It's hard at first and for a while... and I know that too.

You are doing a fine job of coping by expressing all that you have...and are. We have to start that process somewhere, and you did. Good start! (just my opinion, but it's honest and sincere)

Sometimes I have found that writing such feelings out helps. A journal can help get me over some tough times, just such as this.

Walking out in nature...observing how the trees have let go of their leaves, but also that the leaves also let go...stuff like that helps me really "get" that this is nature and meant to be...which is different than knowing it, yet feeling very conflicted, which is also normal....things unfold in understanding, and feeling and truly knowing, within self, all in our own time and way. There's no best way.

I also have found that when I am able and ready, to begin to look at those belongings you have from your grandmother, it can be a bitter-sweet thing but can help on to the next steps. (Let me say that I refused things from my sister when she died...it felt too painful, but now...so many years later, I wish I had some of them.) So for now...just honor that feeling you have; put 'em away if they are painful to look at...honor that for yourself, but don't get rid of them till you are ready to appreciate their presence sometime when it's right. (And then I have also found...sometimes using a loved one's things or saving 'em for kids, keeps the memories close and accessible and meaningfully carried into the future.)

And it's the memories that eventually show us the way, and keep us close to loved ones who've gone on. And it does eventually get less painful as time goes on, but only because we let ourselves have the time and space and ways, whatever they are and whatever that means for us, to mourn and go through all the steps that are ahead of us, as appropriate to who we are.

My deepest and most sincere condolences to you and your family for the sadness of this great loss...but know that within you and your children, your grandmother continues to live on and make waves and do good and learn and have new experiences never dreamed of.

She sounds like a great and wonderful woman...and it sounds to me that some of her greatness rubbed off on you.

What a woman!

All my best wishes for your path ahead.
Joyce in the mts.

[Missy]

Thank you, Joyce.

It's funny you should mention nature. The only place I've felt at peace lately is outside. She was from New England, and she was buried there, and having lived there as a child I have strong memories of doing things with my grandparents amid the rich colors of fall in Connecticut.

She was dying the day Hurricane Ivan swept through Virginia and I saw her and I knew, and I drove home to my husband through the rain and winds, past the immediate remnants from the tornados, because I knew she wouldn't live through the wkend. She was, for the first time, feeble and vague. She went into the hospital that night, transported between tornados, and my mom and my dd and I were with her when she passed the next day.

And on Sunday, the storm pushed on and we had that gorgeous crisp post-hurricane weather. And, again, when we were in CT for her final service two weeks later, the weather was clear and cool and the leaves there were just starting to change. Now, in Virginia, the colors are rich and the memories are inescapable. There were always parades in the fall in Connecticut, craft shows and tag sales...my great uncles all belonged to a colonial drum corp and we used to seek out their appearances. I was able this wkend to get a cassette of the drum corp and I listen to it in the car, looking at the leaves and remembering.

My dad's parents died when I was in college and it did hurt. I loved them, but we weren't as close and the impact just wasn't the same. And my other grandfather had alzheimer's, so, while we had been extremely close, I'd had time to mourn before he died. And his death was truly an escape for him. My sister-in-law died ten years ago, from colon cancer. She was 30. I was pregnant with our first child and I do remember how numbing her death was. But, it was also outside of the natural order. It took years for us to think about her without pain. I know my mil still hurts terribly.

My grandmother died the way she wanted to. She was active until the end, mentally alert. All of her grandchildren and great-grandchildren traveled to Virginia to celebrate her birthday at the beginning of September so she got to see us all together one last time; and, the great-grandchild that she worried about the most--my youngest--is healthy and growing. She kept saying that meant more to her than anything. So, she died with a sense of peace and...completeness, maybe? And that's what's helping some of my other cousins cope. I'm just not to that point yet.

I do love the "stuff". I didn't get much of the old family lace and silver and jewelry; I brought home the avocado green tableclothes and the huge beaded jewelry from the '70's--the things I remember. The threadbare blankets I used to sleep under, the brown crockery. Nobody else really wanted those things, but, for me, it's the memories. It's just that when I walk by one of the bins that are still spread out everywhere, the smell catches me. My husband asked for her bottle of perfume for me, because, as he told everyone, I have a thing for my grandparents' smells.

Sorry for the ramble--but thanks so much for listening.

Missy

[Joyce in the mts.]

Hi again, Missy...

So good to hear more about that amazing woman, your grandmother, and about your family and how things have been. I hope you are finding solace in the writing and expression.

Sounds like you are in a very very graceful place just now, even with the emotions pulling.

And I do believe that Nature offers us much comfort so am glad that you connected with that too. I understand the significance of the smells and feel of the air, and memories they trigger. I cry when I smell certain scents, that remind me of loved ones.

I hope you continue to write and express yourself, because it seems to give voice to feelings that you are experiencing on this journey through grief, and the words flow very well.

Savor the steps, as sad as they may feel; the sadness reminds that we loved and were loved. Always something to be grateful for, eh?

I honor your journey, Missy. Take good care and be gentle with yourself.

Love,
Joyce in the mts.

[JessicaS]

She sounds like an incredible woman.

Nothing is as much of a legacy as grandchildren who consider themselves blessed for having you, even if it is never as long as anyone would have liked.



My grandmothers have passed away as well and I am still very sad about them being gone.

[Missy]

Thank you, abimommy.

She really was an incredible woman. She had an extraordinary presence and energy and her absence is draining. It doesn't take much to set me off right now. My other grandmother was the sweet, fluffy type; but, she was also very reserved. This one baked cookies all the time--and cursed out the stove when they didn't come out right. She once threw a cake out the window, through the screen, because it didn't turn out the way she wanted. She always told me exactly what she thought of my parenting choices--and loved me anyway and then researched those choices and became my strongest advocate. Our holiday dinners were always loud and spirited and it's going to be so quiet this year. When I was small, she had to make a very deliberate effort to stop using the term n*****--my father told her it was unacceptable. When she learned that my h.s. boyfriend (now my husband) was black, she asked only, "Is he a good person?" and then loved him as much as she loved us. For our children, she made Raggedy Anns/Andys with brown skin and black hair.

Thanks again for listening; I'm sorry for rambling.

Missy