I began a post last Saturday about my grandmother - about how she was doing, and what had been taking place over the last few weeks. I intend to complete that post (soon), shifting it into a before & after. The 'after' is now necessary as she left us yesterday morning just before 2:45am. 

 ~ Martha Elizabeth ~ 

I know and understand there is joy and grace to be found in her finally being relieved of her suffering and of the life that was ultimately no life at all. I know she is now with her mother whom she has missed deeply and intensely since her passing, and I believe she is now free from all illness, pain, and worry. Intellectually, I know these things. Emotionally, I'm not there. There is no right or wrong place to be; we each grieve differently. Where I am now...is not past the point of her being gone..not past counting days and hours. When I drove by the nursing home yesterday evening at 8:40pm, I could only think that I had been with her at that exact time the day before. ...She was just there. 

In the space I'm in right now, it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter that we knew it was coming, or that it was inevitable. I'm calm in one moment and fall spectacularly and uncontrollably to sobbing pieces the next. She has been a constant in my life and has filled more space in my heart than I can survey. Her role has been more than that of a grandmother which is so difficult to measure/express personally, because she was such a special grandmother to all of us - I wasn't alone in receiving that incredible gift. 

Last week I was nearly yelling at God; I slammed my hand on my steering wheel and cried out loud wanting to understand why she was here and suffering. And now He's taken her.. She's at peace, she's whole, walking, and well. I should be beeping the horn and shouting in thanksgiving, finding comfort in resolution. 
Instead, I find difficult to breathe and my heart is shattered. 

I added a tag cloud out of curiosity; it's to right of this post → somewhere over there. No surprise. Even in the life of my writing, she has been the main character. And because there is *life* in my writing, my first task was to compose her obituary. Contradictory? Not really. It is an announcement of her death, but a statement about her lifeThere are letters to various caretakers at NHC to follow, but for the moment, I'm here. Not the most consistent writer in the Land of Blog, but beginning this very personal process... 
Learning how to live without her. 


kingcoyote said...

Admittedly, since I've become a parent, gotten a little older, mellowed out a little, I've also become more prone to... Let's just say tearing up.

I've always been able to feel the love and respect that you have for your grandmother, coming through your writing. Just wanted you to know that I hear you, and that I'm thinking of you.

Your friend

Loulou La Poule said...

All the Hens and I extend every single one of the things people try to do and say that might help right now. You are our adopted young-un and we gather you in under our wing.

Paula, my daughter and your buddy, said the truest thing to me about grief. When her Nana died and we were both doing that knee-buckling, sudden sob kind of grieving, she told me, "Mom, we don't go through grief. It goes through us."

Like standing in the waves at Myrtle Beach, chest high, facing the shore: you know there will be another wave, but you can't tell where or when or how big, so you just let it happen. And, slowly, the waves push you further and further toward a quiet shore.

Love you, Sugar.