Taking a Moment
We do not grieve for those who have died. We grieve for ourselves, for what we have lost. --Millennium, "Powers, Principalities, Thrones, and Dominions" (paraphrased)
I've often joked to myself, and occasionally a few other people, that I am emotionally retarded. And I don't mean anything offensive with the use of that word, "retarded". Simply put, retarded is just another way of saying "stunted growth". This is a whole other post within itself, so I'm not going to delve too deeply into that chain of thought, only to say this.
When Greg and I were getting ready for his grandmother's funeral, he remarked, "This is the year for grandparents." I stood there, toothbrush in hand, until I realized what he meant--with his grandmother gone, his grandfather was likely not to be far behind. His other grandmother, while younger than the one who'd just died, keeps getting herself into situations that keep landing her in the hospital. And then it hit me, my great-grandmother, who'd I'd just seen during Christmas, was deteriorating rapidly now.
This is, indeed, the year for grandparents. On Friday, my great-grandmother (Grandma Jenny), finally passed away. It sounds horrible, I know, to say "finally", but her health has been failing for a while now. Physically, it started four years ago and was the reason my grandmother (Mimi) brought her to TN to take care of her. Grandma Jenny always had her mind though, and was sharp as a tack, often reminding us of the things that were going on. Her wit was the one thing that kept Mimi sane, I think, despite all the physical hardships and stress that's been involved these past four years. Her wit was what I noticed slipping on Christmas day, when she referred to Greg as my husband and had to ask who Michael (her great-grandson) was when I handed her a gift from him.
There's something about the elderly and the ill that makes me uncomfortable. I don't know if it's because I'm just not afraid of death and view it as a natural course of life, or if it's because I don't like being around when there's nothing I can do to help. When Mimi called a couple weeks ago to let me know a hospital bed had been brought in for Grandma Jenny, I knew the time was soon. When I called Mimi the day after my engagement to let her know I'd be seeing her Saturday (this past Saturday, that is), she told me about Grandma's current state and made me realize that if I didn't visit her sooner, I'd end up regretting it. So we saw her Monday, and I had my goodbyes, such as they were. I was right in going to visit then, given the timing of Grandma's death, and feel, even now, little grief for her passing.
Maybe it's because we all saw it coming. Maybe it's because she's lived a full life and there wasn't anything else waiting for her. Maybe it's because all she did during these past four years was sit in her rocker to watch games shows and soaps, eat, and sleep. Maybe it's because the past couple weeks she could barely get out of bed, barely swallow anything, and was starting to lose her wits.
Or maybe its just my own belief system that keeps me from turning into a puddle of grief, or maybe it's that whole emotionally retarded issue. Or maybe, just maybe, it's because I've never felt that close enough to many members of my family to feel that kind of connection. Oh, there's love, but when it comes to family, there's always this kind of obligatory love, and Grandma Jenny was always a private person. I didn't know until Sunday that she used to play the violin, that she met her first husband in the church orchestra, that she was the daughter of a highly independent and self-sufficient woman of her time. What I do know is that Grandma Jenny loved to play the organ, and when I was a child, I would always ask her to play a certain song over and over, sit beside her on the bench and listen to her slightly raspy voice sing, "You Always Hurt the One You Love". I remember she was the one who taught me to play cards, games that I remember cheating on but for the life of me can't remember the name of or how to play today.
That's what I thought about when I got the news on Friday at work. Rather than dwelling on her recent condition, I pushed that out of my mind for the memories that I'd rather keep around. And that's what helped. That's what still helps.
I do not grieve for this loss.
I've often joked to myself, and occasionally a few other people, that I am emotionally retarded. And I don't mean anything offensive with the use of that word, "retarded". Simply put, retarded is just another way of saying "stunted growth". This is a whole other post within itself, so I'm not going to delve too deeply into that chain of thought, only to say this.
When Greg and I were getting ready for his grandmother's funeral, he remarked, "This is the year for grandparents." I stood there, toothbrush in hand, until I realized what he meant--with his grandmother gone, his grandfather was likely not to be far behind. His other grandmother, while younger than the one who'd just died, keeps getting herself into situations that keep landing her in the hospital. And then it hit me, my great-grandmother, who'd I'd just seen during Christmas, was deteriorating rapidly now.
This is, indeed, the year for grandparents. On Friday, my great-grandmother (Grandma Jenny), finally passed away. It sounds horrible, I know, to say "finally", but her health has been failing for a while now. Physically, it started four years ago and was the reason my grandmother (Mimi) brought her to TN to take care of her. Grandma Jenny always had her mind though, and was sharp as a tack, often reminding us of the things that were going on. Her wit was the one thing that kept Mimi sane, I think, despite all the physical hardships and stress that's been involved these past four years. Her wit was what I noticed slipping on Christmas day, when she referred to Greg as my husband and had to ask who Michael (her great-grandson) was when I handed her a gift from him.
There's something about the elderly and the ill that makes me uncomfortable. I don't know if it's because I'm just not afraid of death and view it as a natural course of life, or if it's because I don't like being around when there's nothing I can do to help. When Mimi called a couple weeks ago to let me know a hospital bed had been brought in for Grandma Jenny, I knew the time was soon. When I called Mimi the day after my engagement to let her know I'd be seeing her Saturday (this past Saturday, that is), she told me about Grandma's current state and made me realize that if I didn't visit her sooner, I'd end up regretting it. So we saw her Monday, and I had my goodbyes, such as they were. I was right in going to visit then, given the timing of Grandma's death, and feel, even now, little grief for her passing.
Maybe it's because we all saw it coming. Maybe it's because she's lived a full life and there wasn't anything else waiting for her. Maybe it's because all she did during these past four years was sit in her rocker to watch games shows and soaps, eat, and sleep. Maybe it's because the past couple weeks she could barely get out of bed, barely swallow anything, and was starting to lose her wits.
Or maybe its just my own belief system that keeps me from turning into a puddle of grief, or maybe it's that whole emotionally retarded issue. Or maybe, just maybe, it's because I've never felt that close enough to many members of my family to feel that kind of connection. Oh, there's love, but when it comes to family, there's always this kind of obligatory love, and Grandma Jenny was always a private person. I didn't know until Sunday that she used to play the violin, that she met her first husband in the church orchestra, that she was the daughter of a highly independent and self-sufficient woman of her time. What I do know is that Grandma Jenny loved to play the organ, and when I was a child, I would always ask her to play a certain song over and over, sit beside her on the bench and listen to her slightly raspy voice sing, "You Always Hurt the One You Love". I remember she was the one who taught me to play cards, games that I remember cheating on but for the life of me can't remember the name of or how to play today.
That's what I thought about when I got the news on Friday at work. Rather than dwelling on her recent condition, I pushed that out of my mind for the memories that I'd rather keep around. And that's what helped. That's what still helps.
I do not grieve for this loss.