I still can't wrap my brain around the loss of my grandson. It's been 16 months since he died. We have now celebrated two of his birthdays without him — his 23rd and now his 24th. I was not able to buy him gifts, ot leave him a silly birthday greeting on his phone; however, we still celebrated him. We drove down to our daughter's house and went out that night to his favorite restaurant with his friends. A French dip sandwich at his favorite restaurant was our first mode of celebration. There were 12 of us total, 5 family members and 7 friends. What can I say, the kid was so loved. So very loved.
Did we have a good time? Yes, we did. There was laughter, stories, remembrances, and loads of love around the table. I was pleasantly surprised that I didn't break down in tears. I was proud of myself. We made it through without tears. At least until bedtime--that time when you are all alone and you can let the tears flow.
I like this ritual now, of going down to our daughter's house to spend his birthday with them, even though he isn't there. I can still feel him. There are so many memories.
We were there for a few days, so we went to many of his favorite places. Eating many of his favorite foods. We went to an apple farm that his family had been going to for years. We've been before — donut-eating, cider-buying, and, of course, apples. I love these memory reenactments. I think they are good for me--for all of us. Some might disagree; however, I feel so close to him when we go to all his favorite places. He's there, walking alongside in spirit, in memories that we carry in our hearts; we all feel his presence.
After Jack died, his friends all pitched in to buy a bench for him at a local state park where they used to hike. It sits high upon a hill overlooking the park, looking out as far as the eye can see. And, there in the distance is the little town where his favorite restaurant is located. I'm not sure if his friends knew that when they bought and placed the bench; however, it turned out that way. We hiked up the gentle hill, sat on his bench for a while, cried, hugged, and looked out to where he once stood. It was healing for me in some respects. A little anyway. There was an emotional tie. A place to remember and reflect. I could feel him smiling.
Even though he's been gone now for almost a year and a half, to me it feels like yesterday that we lost him, and then some days it feels like he's still here with us. It's a bizarre emotional conundrum. He was such a sweet boy, so loving and kind. There are times when I feel his arm around my shoulder, comforting me.
Has the grief dissipated? No, it has not. Do I still cry? Yes, I do. Is the pain of loss still there? Yes, it is. Why, because sometimes I forget. Sometimes, I think he's coming to my house. Sometimes, I accidentally count him in as I get ready to host a holiday or buy gifts, or set a table. I miss his sweet face, his love of food, his funny sense of humor--all the things that made him, him. I just plain miss him.
In a little over a week, we will again celebrate a holiday without him. It will be hard, there will be tears. However, there will also be laughter. Stories will be shared, food will be gobbled up, and our family will once again experience another level of healing and coming together. We will visit many of the same places we have in the past and say things like, "Remember when Jack..." and we will laugh. And then maybe cry a bit. We will shop together and say--Oh, he would have loved this...we will eat at a restaurant and say--Oh, he would have ordered this, for sure...yes, we will say and do those things, we will remember when, we will cry, and we will also build new memories.
It is complicated for me to write these days, as I am very self-absorbed. Grief swirls around me, never ever far away. I walk into it. A never-lifting cloud. Most of the time anyway. Some days are better, the cloud lifts a little, the sun shines, and I forget for a while. Grief is an emotion that is very hard to pin down, as it's a shape-shifter.
I am allowing myself to walk through this time in my life — exploring, changing, feeling, growing, and, most of all, waiting on what I do not know. I can sense change, though.
I don't share much with friends anymore. They think I should be over it by now. So, I keep my grief to myself. I try to keep it bottled up, only to be spilled out during the dead of night, or times like this, when I can be alone and write. Writing for me is very therapeutic. I need to do it more often, but I am at a loss for words now. The words, you see, are all about grief. And that's too sad for most to handle. So, I keep it hidden, deep down inside, and open the door when I am all alone.
I will be sharing another thing God has shown me later. It isn't the right time yet. I'll be writing about it in the future, though. I will have to. It was an eye-opener for me. A realization. It has helped me in dealing with the heartache, and that's a good thing. It may be my next blog; I don't know when I'll write about it, but it happened, and it's essential. And, it has helped me.
One last thing — my relationship with God has changed. Not my beliefs, not my closeness, just my perception. I've never been a phony; I've always been honest, so at some point, I'll have to write about that, too. Stay tuned...
