pie and sadness
This morning as I drove into work, Nelle sat strapped into her flowery, big-girl car seat talking to Grammy and Grandpa.
In her heart.
They've
both died in recent years; Grandpa two years ago now ... a progressive
and confused slide into darkness. I fear Nelle hardly remembers him now,
the hours spent cuddling his bony figure on that oversized leather
armchair. But she still talks to him.
When
Grandpa was dying, I did my research. I wanted Nelle to feel the pain
of his death, but in a way she could understand, deal with; I wanted her
to feel close to him, even when his body lay under shovelfuls of
suburban
soil. So death, as we explained it, is when someone leaves their body - a
body that's old or sick or badly hurt, that doesn't work anymore - and
goes
into the hearts of everyone who's loved them. We all get a piece of
soul, to carry with us.
A final gift.
She
was just 3, almost 3, when he left us. In death, he lay on a hospital
bed - freshly made, for his passing. She wanted to see him, see his
body. She brought a picture she drew and we tucked it under his cool, spindly
fingers and he carried it with him. I'll never forget those moments of
courage and compassion and sadness.
We had another year and a half with
Grammy. We took no moments for granted; we knew when it was happening,
when those terrible irreverent cells overcame her. We weren't to make
the same mistake again - she knew she was leaving; we knew she was
leaving; we said our goodbyes. But, her leaving was a gouge that hasn't
healed yet - I don't
know if I even want it to.
The drive this morning reminded me of
remembering. How do we hold on and let go? Do I just keep picking open
the hole in my chest, to avoid forgetting? To help my daughter remember? Or is it inevitable ... that one day, Grammy'll just be photographs and
misremembered moments? I don't want that. For her, for him, for me.
Maybe that's what this is all about. Me. Knowing that one day, I'll die, too ... and fly quietly into the
hearts of the people who've loved me ... to be remembered through photos and blog posts and newspaper clippings ...
Nelle sat behind me as the freeway slid
by, talking quietly to Grammy and Grandpa in her heart, wishing every
moment they were there in the flesh to read her stories and cuddle with
her and play made-up games and feeling sadness that's both good and bad,
and inexplicable. And I thought about my life and hers and hoped I was
doing this right. All of it.
I want to hold my baby girl in my arms forever.
Amanda xx
your posts never fail to touch deep within...
ReplyDeletebut this one leaves me weeping.
as i sit here waiting for the pie i promised my babies for breakfast... to finish baking... so that i may crawl into bed and cuddle them.
here is to another day cancer free and full of the awareness of life!
xo
heather
Oh Amanda, I am in awe at your gift with words (as the tears stream down my face.....) Auntie Jeannie has been with my a lot this week - lots of reminders.... I can hear her voice in my head laughing and talking to me with that naughty, cheeky sense of humour that never fails to makes me smile. (I'm starting to wonder if she is trying to tell me something?) Never doubt for a moment Amanda - you are doing it 'just right'! Love and Hugs to you, Rob and Nelle Donna Xxx
ReplyDeleteAmanda, this is truly beautiful. The tears are flooding down my face as I think of the beautiful way you have explained the end of a life to your gorgeous girl who is just beginning hers. I think that holding our loved ones in our heart is the only real way we can ever hold onto them, to honour their memories and lives by keeping them near us in the times we need them most. Thank you for sharing.
ReplyDeleteheather, thank you for the poetry of pie for breakfast xx
ReplyDeletedonna, it's nice to share the sadness and a cuddle. here's one to you xx
amy, thank you. and the next step, of course, is explaining that our hearts never quite fill up ... xx