Wisdom from the Trenches

It is most likely that you didn’t notice because people think of us far less often than we fear they do, but I have been silent here for a few weeks. I was blogging weekly, all written and scheduled in advance, and then I took it all down because the last thing I want to do when I am sad is put my bubbly, happy self out there for the whole world to see (or at least the five or six regular readers I am blessed to know). I’m not going to fake anything for you or put on a brave front when life knocks me down. That’s not the point of this blog. So I left a gaping hole in my blog schedule on purpose.

My grandma passed away. My feisty, artistic grandma is gone. One hundred years ago, Walt Disney began a brand that would shape the world in the very same year my grandma was born. And my grandma quickly grew to become a woman who would shape her family into the amazing people they are today. She was well ahead of her time, a feminist to the core, who believed that women were every bit as competent, intelligent, determined, and talented as their male counterparts. In her youth, she joined a choir that was set to perform for one semester and, due to a twist of fate that involved our nation in World War II, my grandma chose to travel around her state and sing with that choral group for several years, performing to troops headed off to the European and Pacific fronts. She learned to make soap, makeup, baskets, pottery…she excelled at practically every form of art. She made porcelain dolls. She painted hundreds of paintings and displayed them at various venues around her area. She sewed everything under the sun – dresses, curtains, blankets – and so much more.

She helped teach me how to sew. She told me to stand up tall, look people directly in the eyes, and be proud of who I am. She bought me my first pair of rollerblades – on the condition that she got to be the first to wear them. She inspired me to value creativity and imagination. She believed in the power of stories. She drove with me to my duty station after Basic Training. She hosted my friends for Thanksgiving dinner that year. She kept track of all my addresses as I moved with the military over the years. She sent me a Winnie the Pooh and friends stuffed animal set when I nearly died in a German hospital, even though she was grieving the loss of her own mother at the same time. She allowed me to live in the house next to her for a few years when I got out of the Army. She taught me how to make apple pie. When my husband and I bought a home to build equity and make our way in life, we lived nearby and visited often. She watched my three children grow up.

Full stop: She watched my children grow up.

That statement always brings me to tears. And I am crying now. Because you can know what will happen when someone ages and you can be grateful they lived a long and blessed life (of which you got to be a part), but you can still be reduced to tears when you miss them. There are so many good things I will cherish forever. There are so many things I will miss – like the tea parties we had! Grief comes in waves at the oddest of times. But one moment is predictable: I always cry when I say she watched my children grow up.

My counselor asked me recently if I was allowing myself to feel my loss. I am. Hence the gap. I need to make space for my emotions. It is important to me to honor the memories and the feelings that come with each one. The gap between what was and what is now my reality is a transition and adjustment period that takes time to process. I have learned it is best to do this when I am fully aware and present for the emotional journey. In my life, and in yours, it is imperative we mind the gap.