I’ve been trying to muster up the courage to write this for weeks. In fact, it is the one task in my bullet journal for this week, but here I am waiting until Friday to start it. I have a week off of class, so I knew it would be the best time to do it.
To be fair to myself, I have a concussion so that plays into why it’s taken me so long. I can pretty much only pray that there aren’t too many typos. I’m not supposed to be looking at the screen too much so I’m trusting my typing skills.
But if I’m really honest, I didn’t want to write this post. I still don’t. But I promised myself and my counselor I would put into words what I don’t want to talk about out loud. It seems like putting my thoughts into words makes everything too final. I don’t know if I’m ready for that. I know I’m not. Grief is weird.
It's Tuesday now. I hardly had a chance or any emotional energy to work on this over the weekend so here I am, days later. I should be working on my homework but 1. I left it at home and 2. I can only read for about 10 pages before my brain fog comes (thanks concussion).
This year is not what I had wanted, not what I had planned, not what I had imagined. At all.
I never imagined a world without two of the most important people to me in it. I have never experienced this amount or level of grief, and frankly don't know what to do with it.
My grandma was the most amazing woman. She taught me faith. She taught me the value of hard work. But I remember the moment I figured out she wasn't perfect. I don't know how old I was (numbers are not my thing) but I remember being at her house and looking outside because I couldn't find her. I saw her through the window smoking and I was devastated! I don't know why I'm sharing this right now, except that was the moment I had to come to terms with the fact that even the people I love the most aren't perfect.
But still when I think of my grandma, I see her as close to perfect. She was a great listener and she loved greatly. She and I played this little clapping game, and it always brought me the most joy, even as an adult. My grandma always had Dreyers French Vanilla ice cream in the freezer (ok maybe it was Breyers...and sometimes it was the real vanilla but it was the good stuff). It was also a very good idea to check the milk before pouring it into cereal ...which was almost always Kix and a banana. Grandma made the best creamed onions for holidays, and always cooked up the gizzards 🤮. Our late nights were spent playing cards. No one can play cards like my grandma. We played a lot of Rummy, Kings Corners, and the occasional game of cribbage (but really Rummy was OUR game). In fact, the summer I lived with Nolan, Dana and Mike, Grandma and I had a running score pad.
Grandma and I liked to watch Shirley Temple movies and Touched By An Angel. Mostly, we liked to spend time together. Any time. Doing anything. My grandma was my biggest fan and my favorite person.
Thirty-two weeks ago I drove up to Washington. I was a mess. I kind of took my time. I stopped a few times because I was hungry or sleepy. Then I finally made it. In my head I knew it would be the last time I saw her. I knew she was put on hospice. I knew she was just old. I knew I was coming up to say goodbye. What I didn't know is that she would choose me. My dad and Michelle were on their way up from the beach. It was kinda dark in the room but the big light was so bright so Dana ran home to get a lamp and some dinner for us. So then it was just us. Me and my grandma. Just how we liked it. I told her about my boyfriend and told her I wished he could have met her. She seemed happy about that. I told her about my new internship I would be starting. She was always so proud of me. And then I could tell she was struggling a bit so we prayed and read from Isaiah. Then, we sang a hymn. It was sacred, it was beautiful. And it was in that moment that her breath started to fade and the nurses came in to be with me for her last. She chose that last moment - her first moments with Jesus - to share with me. I cherish that fact. It's made grieving easier, but I miss her every day and long for the day I'm going to see her again.
For the past eight years, I have been a caregiver for the sweetest boy. He and his family stole my heart. They became my family and accepted me as one of their own. I learned so much about myself, about love, and about faith in these eight years. I have grown and learned to love a child as if he were my own. I have learned how much a nonverbal, wheelchair bound child can love and teach me about loving and living. Honestly, I'm not quite ready to even put all of this into words, so I'm just going to keep it real and keep it short right now.
Sweet Charlie ran into the arms of Jesus on August 1st. While the sorrow and pain is still great, I am at peace knowing he is doing all the things he was never able to do earth-bound. Charlie and I also just liked to be together. We loved to go on walks (sometimes we even ran), we loved being outside and reading. We loved to play with the dog and of course watch TV. Our favorite though was football. Football on TV, football practice, or his brother's games. We just loved it all. And my very favorite thing was seeing Charlie so happy. I miss his smile and laughter most of all. In the past month I've watched more old videos on my phone than I ever have in my life (thank you Google).
We always called Charlie the greatest secret keeper. Living his whole life nonverbally, he heard everyone's secrets. We always told him that when he learns to talk we are all going to be in trouble because he is going to spill everything. But I like to think that because he couldn't talk to us, his relationship and communication with Jesus was even sweeter. That he could hear and discern the voice of God better than any of us. That his communication with God was so intimate and sweet that he said everything he wanted to say to us to him. I can imagine the reunion, and know he was greeted with a "well done."
I went to counseling soon after Charlie passed away. My counselor asked me about the pain I was feeling and also respected that I didn't really know what to say or how to say it. She also asked me about the differences with my grandma's passing and Charlie's. It comes down to this for me. My grandma lived a long life. Charlie had so much life, and we desired for so much more time. It seems unfair and in this, it's what I've struggled with the most.
So if you see me soon, I most likely won't be wearing makeup, and I may randomly start crying. But that's just grief. It's weird. But it's also beautiful when you know you're grieving over someone who is being taken care of by the best. I saw somewhere the other day the best definition of grief. It was something along the lines of grief being all the love we want to give to those we miss the most.
I like to think that Charlie was not only greeted by Jesus and his family before him, but also by my grandma. My grandma never met him, but she knew him. I talked about him and showed her pictures of him all the time. She knew him and I like to think she was there when he arrived.
Charlie, I miss you more than words can even say. Grandma, I will always love you more. Take care of that sweet boy for me.
