I remember sitting in my grandma’s living room with her. She was on her couch, and my grandpa was across the room in his armchair. We were looking through their old photo albums and memorabilia. All the photos were black and white with names and dates handwritten on the back, and as we wiped away the dust, I got to see my grandparents when they were my age. I saw wedding photos and Navy photos and real actual dance cards. Who knew they even existed!
We did this on multiple occasions. I loved it. I loved learning about them and where they came from. I always wanted to ask questions and memorize the answers because I wanted that history imprinted in my brain, but then I would remember why I would want that information imprinted (because I knew they wouldn’t always be there to share it) and that would make me uncomfortable, and I would just keep turning the pages in silence.
I’ve heard a lot about my great grandpa. My grandma was a daddy’s girl, and while he died before I was born, I could tell you stories about him. I have a picture of him in my mind. My grandma kept him alive through her stories and memories.
It was this other world, this past, that I was connected to. Through her. She was the link. But it was always separate. A world that I wasn’t a part of. A world and people that only existed in memories and in photographs.
And I remember when 2009 turned into 2010. I dreaded that midnight hour. For weeks, I would try to forget that it was coming. Because my grandma died in 2009. During 2009, I could think of her having had just died She was still close enough. The time was still close enough. It was still happening; it was real and current. But when 2010 eventually came, her death would become “last year.” It would be in the past. It would be a year she would never see, and my ties to her would be slightly more severed.
Obviously 2010 did come, and quite honestly, I don’t think it really made a difference. It didn’t make her further away. It didn’t put her memory somewhere deep in the past. Her memory was still with me, and I could still feel her at times. The calendar didn’t matter.
So you would think 2013, the year I lost my grandfather, would be easier to say goodbye to than 2009 was. And yet it’s not.
Maybe it’s because of the same reasons — the feeling that he is fading into the past — or maybe it’s because he died so very close to the new year. And maybe it’s because he died and then Mae was born and then TJ got sick, and then I got sick, and then we put our house on the market, and…. Yea, maybe it’s because there was so much living going on that it allowed me to put the sadness to the side a bit, and now that this is calming down, and now that the calendar is once again rolling into January, maybe now it’s when it’s sinking in.
I just know that there are certain times I can feel my grandma. Usually, it’s when I really want to feel her or need to feel her, and all of a sudden, the sun will seem to part, and a warmth will come over me, oftentimes just as visual as it is sensual. With my grandpa it’s different. I don’t get feelings. Instead, sometimes I will just very clearly see his eyes. I will see the soft lines on his face, and the kind joy in his eyes. I will hear the gentle way he said, “I love you,” and I will feel the acceptance and the care and the protection coming from him.
And lately I’ve been able to experience that more. It’s nice.
And perhaps it’s just because I’m tired. Tired of shuttling people all over the place and changing diapers and feeding mouth after mouth after mouth. And I’m tired of packing boxes and tripping over toys and sitting down at the end of the day to a feeling that nothing more has been done than was done 18 hours prior.
And maybe it’s that fatigue that is making me so very sad tonight.
But I am sad. And I’m not going to fight it. Because it’s okay to be sad. It’s a part of life. It’s a part of who I am and who we all are.
There were dark parts of 2013. There were deathbed vigils and hospital visits and nebulizers and all sorts of chaos. But there was also the joy of little Mae being brought into our lives. There has been the pleasure of watching Magoo and Goosie coming even further into themselves. And there’s the overwhelming excitement of finally selling our home and moving on to a future we have dreamt about for years.
So the fact that I am sad tonight is okay. Because tomorrow I get to wake up to a 2014 that holds promise and excitement and new adventures.
Let’s move forward!