Year One

There are always firsts for everything: the first birthday, the first Thanksgiving, the first Christmas, and all the other first holidays. And then, there is the first year. An entire year without him. Without my grandson. Yes, a whole year has now gone by. And yet, it seems like it happened yesterday. I can close my eyes, and the day he died plays like a loop in my brain. The call, the hospital, the death. It remains all too real and incredibly raw. 

Grief is horrible. Reality sets in. And one is never the same. 

This past weekend marked one year. The first year. We didn’t want our daughter and her family to face the weekend alone, so we decided to spend the week with them. Other family members came, friends of our grandson, etc. We had a nice day, sharing stories about Jack and remembering him in so many ways. So many cute stories. We had a huge BBQ and lots of great food. It was a very long day; however, when it was over, I felt that if Jack had been there, he would have loved every minute of it. His friends (who’ve now become a part of our family), his family, so much love, and so many memories—it turned into a good day after all. 

I do wish that he had been there, of course. However, I’m beginning to understand emotionally that that dream will never come true. I hate it, though, I really do. I hate it so much. I want to hug him, tell him he’s my favorite, and hear him laugh and see his smile. I guess I should be happy for the 22 years I’ve had. Maybe I’m greedy. And if I am, I’m OK with that.

So, the first year is now behind us. It’s over. It’s done. Maybe next year we’ll be able to breathe a little easier. Remember more without so many tears. Maybe. That’s what I’m praying for anyway. Not that we forget him, that will never happen, but that when we do think of him, we smile, or laugh, or just plain remember. It’s hard right now, though. Remembering brings tears, at least in my case. I seriously need to buy stock in Kleenex tissue. 

It’s been a long, sad year, and I’m glad it’s over. I want things to go back to normal for my daughter and her family. I want to see them smile, go on vacation, not live in fear, and live again. Live without sorrow. Will that ever happen? Will that be in their future? I’ve always considered myself to be living a fearless life. And now? I know I’m not. I am not fearless. I live in fear. I know that in a split second, it could happen again. There are no guarantees. I have no control over anything. So what does a person do? Well, as a Christian, I pray. I pray that God spare my family from any further pain and suffering. It’s all I can do. Trust isn’t there right now. My heart is still broken, not healed, maybe not ever. 

That’s what year one of grief looks like. Raw, sad, and fearful. I’m still holding out for hope, though. I want my heart to feel hopeful again. 

We leave to head home tomorrow. I hate leaving my daughter, I worry so much, and I never was a worrier before. My faith kept me from that. But now? Now I worry. It’s my new normal. How long will this normal last, though? That’s the question. 

The first year without our Jack. It’s, well, you know what it’s like. 

What I've Learned

 I’ve learned a lot this past year. From July to July—yes, life-changing things. 

I’ve learned that you never heal from the death of a loved one. You learn to live with the grief. It walks by your side, everywhere. 

I’ve learned that crying every day is hard, stressful, and tiring.

I’ve learned that I hide my emotions now in public so as not to upset my friends.

I’ve learned not to talk about it for fear of breaking down and crying.

I’ve learned to fake a smile; it’s not as hard as you think.

I’ve learned to say that I am fine, thank you.

I’ve learned that the first thing I remember each morning is that my grandson has died.

I’ve learned that I feel hollow inside. 

I’ve learned that not everyone cares.

I’ve learned that some care a lot. 

I’ve learned that all day, every day, I think of him.

I’ve learned that 90% of the time, I am sad.

I’ve learned that to still my sadness, I must keep extremely busy.

I’ve learned that business calms me, while it makes others nervous.

I’ve learned that I talk to God throughout the day more often now, and that must mean what it means to “pray without ceasing.” 

I’ve learned that keeping my mind busy is very important. 

I’ve learned that TV, reading, and projects must now dominate my life.

I’ve learned that sleep is my only rest.

I’ve learned that writing about it helps.

I’ve learned that I now live in a constant state of fear of losing someone I love, because now it is real. 

I’ve learned to buy boxes of tissues in packs of 4. It’s cheaper.

I’ve learned to plan away each day, so that I don’t drown in sorrow.

I’ve learned that it’s essential to walk through each stage of grief and embrace it full on.

I’ve learned not to isolate—friends are essential.

I’ve also learned the importance of family. I’ve leaned into some and moved away from others, depending on the nature of the relationship. 

And I’ve learned that sharing is crucial, because somewhere out there is someone else in pain, grieving deeply, barely holding onto God each day. Please know—I am here for you, I will pray for you, and I hope, in some small way, to encourage you to keep getting up each day. Face the hard truths of life, don’t give up. Be there for another person. Be caring, thoughtful, a listener, and a friend. 

These are just a few of the things I’ve learned about myself this past year. I hope that next year will be easier; however, I somehow don't feel optimistic about it. Does that sound pessimistic? Probably. I am being honest, though, which is why I am writing this. To be real. And to share with you what I’ve learned.

Life is hard right now. Very hard. That's what I've learned about it anyway. 

Bye-Bye, Fiona

It was time. We both felt it. Here’s our story.

Before the COVID-19 pandemic began, my husband and I decided to purchase a small travel trailer for some enjoyable camping trips. Camping here in the Midwest, though, is quite different from our time in California. We owned two campers while our kids were small. A tiny one that I found and refurbished, then sold to buy a bigger one. We have many wonderful memories of camping in coastal and mountain areas. Warm beach days to cool summer nights by the campfire.

Fast forward to moving to Ohio. Rain, rain, and more rain. We did try tent camping, as we still had lots of equipment. We tried it once. Then gave everything away. No more camping for us!

Until seven years ago, when we bought a super cute little travel trailer called a Vintage Cruiser—new but made to look old —she was the cutest thing ever! I named her Cora. Cora the Cruiser. Torquise appliances, and cute little curtains. What’s not to love? Well, size for one thing. She was a great weekend warrior, but we took her once on a two-week camping trip, and after two weeks and lots of rain, we decided to upgrade. I needed more space!

Along came Fiona. She was amazing. The best floor plan ever. Recliners, fold-out sofa bed, luxury shower, and a very nice master bedroom. We could and did go for a month at a time. For five years, we traveled from Michigan to Quebec. We went down to DC, and everywhere in between. We loved it. We pulled her with a big, beautiful Expedition and had a very comfortable time camping, or, as It Turned Out, Glamping. 

One day, though, things changed. We left for a camping trip, very excited, full of plans. It turned out to be excessively hot (we were under a heat dome), our poor little Fiona could not keep up with the heat index of over 100 degrees, and she became a hot box! So now what do we do? We had our dog with us, and we were hot and grumpy; we couldn’t keep cool, and we weren't having fun! After much discussion, we realized our camping days were coming to an end.

Neither of us wanted to give in to that mindset. Gosh darn it, we were having fun!  Weren’t we?  No, we weren’t. As we talked, we realised we had camped in all the places we wanted to, we had seen the sights, we had done the things. It was time. It's time to admit that we weren't enjoying camping. We (okay, I) wanted to drive a smaller SUV, one that I could park, and also, hotels were looking mighty good. 

So, one morning I put her up for sale and the next—she was sold. And, just like that, we were minus a travel trailer and Fiona was gone. We have so many incredible memories, countless photos, and have had countless fun times with our grandkids. However, our time as campers for now has come to an end. 

Will we ever buy another RV? Perhaps, one day. Not anytime soon, though. For now, we will travel by car or plane, and we will stay in hotels or Bed and Breakfasts. We will cherish our memories and be grateful for our camping days. 

Fiona’s new parents already love her. I’m praying for their future memories…may they be as wonderful as ours.