Gib's grandmother was buried this weekend. She died Thurs, the visitation was Friday (in another state), and the service and burial were on Saturday (in yet ANOTHER state). I don't know what the deal with the "accelerated schedule" was, but I'm afraid that we are all still in shock and that no one has been able to properly grieve. I find myself falling apart at the word cancer. Or death. Or grandma. Even grandpa's death 6 years ago is weighing so heavily on my mind. Oh, I fully expect the night terrors to come and I FULLY expect them to be some of the worse I've ever had. Grandma's with Grandpa now, her baby who died in infancy, her son who died in adulthood and my two babies lost before birth.... these are a constant litany in my mind and on my soul, but for now THEY ARE NOT HELPING. Maybe soon? Maybe never? I am so thankful for the many, many survivors of breast cancer that I know, but sad for this loss and the other losses that will be felt forever.
Grandma sure did things her own way, and I can almost feel that she held on to the first day of the month AFTER breast cancer awareness month to die. We will always be aware. Always.
But you should know that death and terrors and grief and panic aside, I still manage to be me. Comic relief- even at the burial. I managed to somehow trip and fall three times on the way to the gravesite. Gib's brother mentioned that Gib's grandpa probably somehow had a hand in it, and it really is his style. I WAS always his favorite target. Gib's cousins all got a laugh at that. I do know how to (even though COMPLETELY accidentally and blamed solely on my clumsiness) lighten the mood. As we begin to leave I decide to take off my heels to avoid a FOURTH faceplant. Guess how that worked out? Oh yeah, it worked out Jenn style. I managed to accidentally drop the first heel I took off. Not only did I drop it, I dropped it so it landed heel side up and then STEPPED on the heel with my bare foot. Over half of my foot is bruised now, and I ended up borrowing one of Gib's cousin's wife's Mickey Mouse crocs (in flourescent pink non-the-less) for the funeral dinner. Oh Lord, I am nothing if not classy.
It was a HORRID weekend. One that will be repeated no doubt during my life, but having to watch my children's grief was just as hard as dealing with Gib's or my own. I hate that our hearts are torn yet again. How many times can a heart tear? How much grief can one mom bear?
How many times can a heart tear? How much grief can one mom bear?
Until its our turn - and we won't have to cry anymore.
it becomes more apparent - the older I get
Posted by: Pamela | October 06, 2009 at 10:13 AM
ps. hugs and sysmpathy
Posted by: Pamela | October 06, 2009 at 10:14 AM