oh, drafts folder. you suck.

I found the following in my Drafts folder, dated September 5, 2011.

I'm posting it as is, for no other reason than to have it as a reminder. It contains only the good stuff from last summer, when everything sucked except for my sweet baby Oliver. He was busy growing, learning, and becoming so smart that my heart wants to burst from my chest and my eyes well up with tears. Just reading through this list made me remember... and realize how much he has grown. This was one whole year ago, when he was just sprouting this little personality, and now we have conversations and he's potty training like a boss and his imagination runs wild and he makes up songs and tells stories...

I know I've said it before, and I'll say it again: He. Is. Pure. Joy.

If only she could know him now.

So here is the awkward draft, unedited:

so, this is Christmas?

I've been wondering when the mood will strike me. I can't remember... does it always take this long? I overhear conversations about trees and decorations and I see houses with lights and I wonder where my Christmas spirit went off to. (As if I don't know.) Nick has been asking me if I'm OK more than usual lately, so I guess I'm being quiet or something.

I'm working on getting the shopping done. Maybe that will help? I'm trying to make things feel happy and bright, because my sweet boy deserves a cheerful Christmas.

I know it shouldn't be that hard. And part of me thinks that maybe I'm over anylizing the sadness. I only sometimes feel like I'm walking on eggshells, not saying the things that we're all thinking, about how this year it will be so hard without Nick's mom here with us.

On the other hand, I'm not forcing anything... when I do get all excited about decorating and baking and cooking it is coming from a natural, real place. I want to be cheerful and shit but don't know when I'm crossing the line into annoying. I feel guilty for being happy, for having my mom.

My friend Jess tells me he will tell let me know if he needs something from me, and reminds me not to forget that I'm grieving too.

lost in loss

The two experiences I've had with death are shockingly similar, yet worlds apart. The whole family gathered in my grandparents' house. At my mother in law's home, there were four, then three when she moved on. I stand next to a man who has now lost both of his parents. I'm there for him as much as I can be, but I'm still just outside of it. Still feeling helpless, wringing my hands, doing the laundry and hoping it helps.
The loss of my mother in law has been, and continues to be life changing. In my world, my grief is secondary, and that's OK, because it is still personal and important. She was a friend, a connection to my husband's past, my sole female counterpart in being a Panza. I miss her smile, the one that looks exactly like my husband's.

I do my best to be a support staff, for Nick and my father in law, because I feel that's where I best fit. When the situation presents itself, I know what to do, I feel confident in how to help these two men. Mostly, their needs are practical. I'm good at practical. When emotions flare, I offer a hug, and usually a few of the right words find their way across the room. I say it's OK to cry.

But here's the place I really get lost: What do I do for my son, who has lost his grandmother?

I don't have a place for this. Up until now we haven't done anything. She's in a few pictures around the house. Oliver still recognizes her, and points her out as Grandma. But... he's not yet two. Those memories and recognition will fade.

When do I tell the stories? How do I tell them without crying, for fear of confusing him? Why would Mommy cry over a story that's supposed to be happy, about someone we love? And worse... what about the stories I don't know? The questions I can't answer?

The memories he won't have.

I grieve for his loss more than anything.

Because he won't remember how she loved him so much.

moment

I am sitting in my chair. Our chair. The one we have both grown into, grown accustomed to. As he has grown, gotten heavier, the shape of our chair has changed, flattened out to make our spot.

I sit in our chair and I rock. I feel his chest rise and fall. I hear his breath in my left ear. He is almost asleep, I can tell by the rhythm of his breathing. I feel calm.

We rock, in our chair. My feet on the floor between the chair and the foot rest, just so.

I push us gently back and forth, back and forth, like a pendulum. I am reminded of a clock. The slow, gentle passage of time.

Back and forth. Back and forth. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

I don't know how long we've been in our chair this evening.
I am reminded of another time, another chair.

A story I heard, joyously told about a moment in a chair.

She said it was the perfect grandma moment.

A tear slips down my cheek, lands on his perfect little shoulder.

He is so peaceful, angelic.

And so is she, now.

I miss you, Papa (cancer sucks)

Cancer more than sucks. It is an evil thief that robs entire families.

It is SO hard for me to write about my Papa, so this won't be a long post. But hopefully, it will be meaningful. When I wrote about where I'm from, this is the young country couple I mentioned:

I could stare at this for hours. (My dad is the baby.)

He was the rock of our family. The man everyone gathered around. When he spoke, everyone listened.

I have so many favorite memories of this man. When I was little, my grandparents watched me & my brother all the time. We couldn't get enough of each other.

He made me feel so special to share our birthday month. We went to the fair. He bought me a real gold necklace for my 10th birthday. We went to the mall and ate at Arby's and people-watched. He took me back to school shopping and let me buy all the trendy stuff. (a denim shirt & a vest! hello 90s!) I spent all our holidays together sitting by his chair at his feet.

Christmas, 2004

He accepted Nick into the family and made him feel welcome. He made us laugh. We gathered to celebrate my grandparents' 60th wedding anniversary.

60 years together. Amazing, right? Not if you knew them.

The weekend before my wedding in Las Vegas, he found out his cancer had moved into his bones. My grandparents couldn't fly out to be there that day, couldn't be that far away from his doctors. We did dance at the reception back home, though.

I am so grateful to have this picture.

He got very sick not long after that day. I can't believe it's been 2 and a half years that he's been gone. I held his hand as he took his last breath. I can see in my mind the pain on my Grandma's face when we realized he was gone, and how she bent to hold him one last time.

The hurt is still so fresh.

Papa's 80th birthday - November 30, 2007

It breaks my heart that he never got to meet my son, his great-grandson, because cancer took him too soon. It's hard, but I try to remember that they got to know each other for a whole year before Oliver was conceived. There was a time when they were both angels.