grief – Being Margaret

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Life moves on.

I’ve always used that statement flippantly. An off the cuff phrase. It has an entire new meaning to me now. It’s deep and meaningful and a statement that is intertwined with healing and moving forward.

It’s Thursday. That means I’m on my way to meet my very dear friend Jeri for coffee. She’s the kind of friend anyone would be lucky to have. Always happy. Always smiling. She makes me laugh. When she walks into a room there is an energetic force that enters with her. Everyone loves her. I’m happy because we’ve set up a standing weekly date on Thursdays to get together to meet for coffee. Or manicures. Or lunch in the city. Or just so we can talk. And lately, I’ve been doing all the talking. And Jeri listens.

It’s been an emotional few months. The loss of my Mom hit me hard. It hit all of us hard – my siblings, my kids, my nieces and nephews. It also left a mark on my Aunts and Uncles and, well, pretty much anyone who knew her. She was lively and young at heart and fun. She laughed a lot. And made you laugh. She was someone you loved spending time with.

It’s an emotional process learning how to say goodbye to someone you love. It’s hard to move on because there is a daily sadness that washes over you.

And Guilt. You feel guilty just for going about your daily routine. I guess because somewhere down deep that means that you are starting to face that fact that this cherished person is really gone. But you don’t want to acknowledge it because that means that it really happened and that it’s not just a dream. A bad dream that you are waiting to wake up from. You want to hang on to every last piece of this person for as long as you can.

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There is a recurring dream that I have often. I’ve experienced the same one repeatedly – over and over for years. It comes to me at night when my mind is supposed to be shut down and relaxed.

I dream that I’m back at school again. I’ve returned there in my dreams for years. It’s never as I remember. It’s always in a different town and with a different group of people from my life, past and present. But, the theme is constant. I can not remember the last time I went to class. I can’t find my classroom or my locker. When I finally do find my locker, I can’t remember the combination.

Somewhere towards the end – and always right before I wake up – I realize that everybody is graduating and moving on except me.

I haven’t had this recurring dream recently. No. It has been replaced by a different dream. One that does not come to me at night, but one that is on my mind throughout the day. Everyday.

I’m driving in a taxi with my mom. I don’t know where we are but it’s in some big city. We are riding along and suddenly the taxi pulls up to the curb and stops. My mom turns to me, smiles and gives me a hug, opens the door and then steps out. The taxi pulls away from the curb again. But, I’m still in it. I turn to look out the back window and can see my mom standing on the corner where she had gotten out. She gets smaller and smaller until she is out of view. I can not see her anymore. And then, she is gone.

I’m moving forward and going on with my life and she is not with me anymore.

Every now and then you get to the point where things start to make sense again. Your routine as you once knew it feels somewhat back to normal. Then the sadness washes over you again. It can be set off by any small thing. A song. A picture. An upcoming holiday. A dream you have at night. A thought during the day.

So, you surround yourself with your support system. You spouse. Your kids. Your dear friends. Thursday’s with Jeri.

It’s a process. One day at a time.

Life moves on.

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Dear Mom,

Last Saturday I was signed up for a computer class. I grabbed my laptop and headed towards the front door. As I walked past the front room to turn off the TV, the Olympic Hockey game caught my attention. The USA was playing. There are a few Blackhawks on the team and I saw Kane whiz by. So I sat down on the arm of the chair and watched the remainder of it. For the life of me, I now can not remember who the USA was playing but I remember that it was an amazing game. We ended up winning in a shootout.

Sitting there and watching that game made me late for my class. But it didn’t matter. As I turned off the TV and stood up to leave, my phone rang. I thought about not answering it because I was running late, but something prompted me to pick it up. So I juggled the heavy things I was carrying, freed up my right hand and answered it. It was Tim. I could not understand him. Something about you. He was talking in broken sentences. I caught bits and pieces of it. Panic started to rise in me. And then, my heart stopped.

I don’t think I could have ever been prepared for that call. I don’t understand how this could have happened. You did everything right. You exercised and ate right. You lived an active lifestyle…..

The week was a blur of emotions. The phone calls started immediately. The txt’s came, too. And the condolences via social media. Isn’t it odd how fast word spreads now-a-days? It’s rather comforting to know that when tragedy strikes, we are instantly lifted up in prayer. Amy immediately jumped on a flight from Houston to Chicago. She got in late. (Well, late for me. You know how I love to be in my pj’s early.) So I picked her up at the airport and we drove together in the dark to get home. Home to Indiana. Home to where we were raised. Home to gather together with our other siblings. The drive was hazardous. I was white knuckled by the time I got there. I’m not sure if it was because we were driving through whiteouts on icy, snow covered roads or if it was because I was holding onto the steering wheel a bit too tight for fear of what lie ahead for all of us.

Bruce took the week off of work. He was by my side every step of the way. Tim, Bobby, Nancy, Amy and myself – along with our spouses – all found comfort in being surrounded by each other. All week.

I miss you so much. I can’t believe I’m never going to see you or talk to you again in this lifetime. There’s so many things I still want to ask you. And talk to you about. And tell you……

Scottie got the job. Remember I told you about his interview? You said you would start a Novena for him. Did you have time to start it? Bruce and Lauren are going on a long weekend somewhere. They are waiting to see which flights are open. Remember the first time Bruce Robt. flew in to see you and take you to lunch? He talks about it often. That visit was the first of many trips back and forth to visit you. In his words, “Grandma is the coolest!!” Brian has a lead on an internship this summer. He’s working hard and continues to keep his GPA up. And he loves the college life. He has become so independent. It’s hard to believe he is almost done with college. You were right. Time does go fast. Too fast.

You were taken from us way too soon. The thought of never seeing you again or talking to you in this lifetime is too much….

Me? I miss you more than words can describe. My heart is heavy and I walk around with a pit in my stomach and a constant feeling deep inside that something is wrong. I know you always told me that your prayer was that when your time was up, that the Lord would take you quickly. He heard your prayer, Mom. But I have a huge hole in my heart because I did not get to say goodbye to you. I did not get to tell you how blessed I was to have you as my mother. I wanted to be next to you when your time came to leave this earth, holding your hand and telling you how incredibly much I love you. To tell you that I will miss you. And that I will see you again one day and until that day, pray for me. But God had a plan for you and He decides when our time on earth is done. He decides when to call us home. And in my heart I know you are in a better place. You are at peace.

So Please, Don’t worry about any of us. Right now our hearts are heavy. But through our faith and in time, our feelings of sadness and devastating loss will be replaced by happy memories of our time spent with you. I’m going to miss you so much. I already do. I can not thank you enough for the strong faith you instilled in me and for the unconditional love you showered me with. I’ll pray for you everyday. And I know you’ll pray for me, too.

I Love You,
Peggy

“We never really get over devastating loss. In the thick of it, we almost stop breathing; sometimes even wishing we could. And we know deep within that we will never be the same. Yet, one day we feel the sun on our face again. We find ourselves smiling at a child or a joke or a memory. And at that moment, we realize we are finding our way back. Changed forever? Yes. But also softer, deeper, more vulnerable and more loving too. And we are breathing again…..”

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