Processing Death

And like that, she is gone.

I will miss my grandma in so many more ways than I thought I would. Her kindness, her generosity (I have never met anyone else that offers my girls "Freezey Pops" at any time of day), her sweetness, her stubbornness, her laughter; it will all be missed. 

Death wreaks havoc in many ways, and my response is particularly a multi-emotional one. I tend to have less patience with nit-picky people, grumpy people, rude people, and complainers. I cannot hide my opinion or anger or irritation very well, and I tend to blow up over insignificant things. I cry over the smallest acts of kindness, when my girls tell me they love me, or just when I feel like it. My dear husband is capable of identifying these episodes and handling them well, but others are not.

We just returned from Grandma's funeral late Monday evening, the girls went back to school on Tuesday morning, and I had a few hours of training for my new job on Wednesday. With all this in mind, my husband's parents decided that these few days out of their multiple-week trip were the ones on which to visit us. I had asked that they not come this week, even before my grandma died, but they were insistent. 

I am still angry at the world. I am angry that my grandparents are dead. I grew up next door to them, and the bulk of my childhood revolves around them. They helped to shape me into the person, wife, and parent that I am. We are inheriting a beautiful armoire and a practically brand new television from Grandma, which is fantastic, but they will not bring her back to me. We will value these things of hers, though, and we will cherish the memories we make with them and think of her fondly. 

I know my in-laws probably expect me to apologize for my behavior while they were here, but I do not have any plans to do so at this time. I am grieving. I am stressed. I needed this time with my husband and my daughters, not house guests. Yes, I poked fun at this tacky, hideous camel-shaped table that looks like it belongs in a 70s drug lord movie that they brought to my husband. Yes, I meant it. No, it will not be displayed in a prominent place in my home. Ever. My husband understands and agreed to put it somewhere more obscure. He gets me. We are on the same page. 

Perhaps I will feel like apologizing for any hurt feelings later.

Or perhaps not.

I pray that God will help me to deal with these feelings and know the wisest course of action in moving forward. I also pray that He helps my girls to heal from all of this. I will also thank Him for blessing us in so many other ways. 

Melancholy

I would like to think that I handle most things in stride. Being a mother of four necessitates such an ability, does it not? What I have come to realize about myself in the past fifteen years or so is that I do take most things in stride, but I have a truly difficult time dealing with bigger issues in a timely manner.

Given the amount of setbacks, disappointments, and family drama in my life before I ever left middle school, one would think that nothing could get to me very easily. When I ended my very intense, romantic, on-again-off-again relationship of three years back in 1999, I sank into a very deep pit of constant sadness. That same summer, when my biological parents that had promised to pay for my fifth year of undergrad changed their minds with less than one month until classes began, I panicked. Luckily for me, my husband (then brand new boyfriend) was there to pick me up and put me back together.

Moving from the east to the Midwest proved to be more than a challenging experience for me. I was enrolled in graduate school in a field that was not my passion, living in an extreme weather environment, living in sin with my husband (then fiancé), and I felt like I was in a foreign country in terms of the people. Sadly, that feeling never went away completely, even after eleven years. I had such a difficult time processing all that change at once that my guy suggested I see a counselor or he would ship me back to my folks. Yes, it was that bad. 

When my wedding dress came in in the wrong size, I worked it out with the seamstress pretty easily and without much stress. When I got pregnant nine days after we got married, I was excited, even though this was not our plan. When it came time to deliver my first child, I just did what had to be done with determination. When I got put on restricted activity with my second pregnancy, it was no big deal.

When the grandfather I grew up with as my next-door neighbor got cancer and died, I got sad and fat. I am an emotional eater. When I nearly lost my third child due to partial placental abruptions and preterm labor, I worried constantly and hid it by knitting. For a year or more after she was born, I cried just thinking about what almost was. When I found out I was pregnant for a fourth time, quite unexpectedly, I was angry and scared until two weeks before she was born. I still carry guilt over this. When my husband had to leave us behind for nine months while he moved to the east coast for a new job, I went into survival mode. I had mild PTSD for nearly one year after we were reunited.

Yes, I can roll with some punches, but others knock me to the ground.  I will manage through faith in Jesus Christ, that I know. In fact, I am more affected by the imminent passing of my grandma than anything else right now. And just like with Grandpa, I know I am eating emotionally and sleeping more and not interacting enough. 

At least I have valued the time I have had left with my dear Grandma, and my girls have grown to adore her just as much as the rest of us. We helped her pick produce in her garden last summer. We baked her zucchini bread from the zucchini we picked in her garden. The girls ate Freezey Pops all summer with her last year. We spent most of the summer in West Virginia, taking in all the time and memories we could with my parents and Grandma. We have visited her. We have called her. We have loved her.

And she has loved us.

We are blessed.