Seven years ago, apparently, I was in Pittsburg. Grady was with me. We went and saw Big Brutus. We hung out with Grandma. Seven years ago, I assume, my Aunt Carolyn was still working, so we entertained ourselves, mostly.
Today is her birthday.
It is her first birthday on the other side.
Everything is okay.
Nothing is okay.
It is a strange dichotomy, this life now.
Seven years ago there was a "Playground party at the Center ..."
Always and forever ... behind the camera.
I remember this picnic. And the visit. I remember Grady started getting tired and we left as it was getting dark. He threw up on the way home for the second time that day. It was your first experience with his throwing up. I can't remember what you said. But I remember feeling, back then, like everyone saw G and knew him as healthy, so when they were confronted with the daily vomiting, it was like ... oh wow. It's not a little bit.
The next days we went to Grandma's house and sat. There's pictures of you there. Not too many. Even seven years ago ... I always thought there would be a next visit. Another time.
As the family grew I got better about making people take pictures. Seven years ago I didn't realize how much of that was to be my role. But it is.
I miss you. Every day. I didn't talk to you every day when you were alive, or probably even think about you every day. It makes this feel very weird to me. And hard to manage. I explained it to someone (probably multiple people, I talk a lot) ... I explained it this way ... I've lost my Aunt who was so very important to me. But my mother, and best friend, lost her sister. And my cousin, and best friend, lost her mother. This somehow, simultaneously, puts us all together but also far apart. She was the same person, but to each something different. And what my mother has lost is profound. What my cousin has lost is devastating.
To quote two musicals ... words fail.
There are moments that the words don't reach
In writing that I'm reminded of one of the later facebooks posts of her life ... I know, so silly. But they are her, trapped, immortalized. And I scroll through them sometimes, just to remember the cadence of her speech, how she talked, what mattered to her.
Her feed is filled with only family pictures.
But on April 3rd, her husbands birthday, she posted a picture of Dennis as a teenager. And she wrote ...
"Happy Birthday Dennis, our life has been great! HAPPY BIRTHDAY Dear."
It's not as comforting as I wish it was. But it's something. It's a little.
My problem is I had so many plans. There was so much coming that her and I were working on. Taking the granddaughters to American Girl. Getting the grandsons together just because they all got along so well. A mother daughter trip (this was my idea).
We were forever planning ... but she was retired and I stay home ... my whole life and hers tended to follow this path of logistical planning around the business of others. And sometimes things just couldn't be done.
She called asked if she could bring Bette and Knox down for spring break last year. I was going to New York. As time passes more and more regret.
Because I had the thought, I can cancel the NYC trip ... I've been before. She wouldn't be asking if it wasn't important.
But she didn't want that. She said no no we'll do it another year. I mean you only have the information you have in front of you. You can only do so much.
Today is her birthday. She would have been 69. Too young. Too young.
There it is. I've been dreading it all day. The facebook reminder of her birthday. Right now my mother is seeing it too.
The pain is just too real. And it just won't go away.
Today is her birthday.
It is her first birthday on the other side.
Everything is okay.
Nothing is okay.
It is a strange dichotomy, this life now.
Seven years ago there was a "Playground party at the Center ..."
I remember this picnic. And the visit. I remember Grady started getting tired and we left as it was getting dark. He threw up on the way home for the second time that day. It was your first experience with his throwing up. I can't remember what you said. But I remember feeling, back then, like everyone saw G and knew him as healthy, so when they were confronted with the daily vomiting, it was like ... oh wow. It's not a little bit.
The next days we went to Grandma's house and sat. There's pictures of you there. Not too many. Even seven years ago ... I always thought there would be a next visit. Another time.
As the family grew I got better about making people take pictures. Seven years ago I didn't realize how much of that was to be my role. But it is.
I miss you. Every day. I didn't talk to you every day when you were alive, or probably even think about you every day. It makes this feel very weird to me. And hard to manage. I explained it to someone (probably multiple people, I talk a lot) ... I explained it this way ... I've lost my Aunt who was so very important to me. But my mother, and best friend, lost her sister. And my cousin, and best friend, lost her mother. This somehow, simultaneously, puts us all together but also far apart. She was the same person, but to each something different. And what my mother has lost is profound. What my cousin has lost is devastating.
To quote two musicals ... words fail.
There are moments that the words don't reach
In writing that I'm reminded of one of the later facebooks posts of her life ... I know, so silly. But they are her, trapped, immortalized. And I scroll through them sometimes, just to remember the cadence of her speech, how she talked, what mattered to her.
Her feed is filled with only family pictures.
But on April 3rd, her husbands birthday, she posted a picture of Dennis as a teenager. And she wrote ...
"Happy Birthday Dennis, our life has been great! HAPPY BIRTHDAY Dear."
It's not as comforting as I wish it was. But it's something. It's a little.
My problem is I had so many plans. There was so much coming that her and I were working on. Taking the granddaughters to American Girl. Getting the grandsons together just because they all got along so well. A mother daughter trip (this was my idea).
We were forever planning ... but she was retired and I stay home ... my whole life and hers tended to follow this path of logistical planning around the business of others. And sometimes things just couldn't be done.
She called asked if she could bring Bette and Knox down for spring break last year. I was going to New York. As time passes more and more regret.
Because I had the thought, I can cancel the NYC trip ... I've been before. She wouldn't be asking if it wasn't important.
But she didn't want that. She said no no we'll do it another year. I mean you only have the information you have in front of you. You can only do so much.
Today is her birthday. She would have been 69. Too young. Too young.
There it is. I've been dreading it all day. The facebook reminder of her birthday. Right now my mother is seeing it too.
The pain is just too real. And it just won't go away.
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