I remember at Grandpa's funeral how surreal everything was. Looking at Grandma it just seemed like the world should stop. And even though it slowed down and she didn't have to worry about food for a short time, somehow time slipped by. You could tell that the days were short and the hours, minutes, even seconds were longer than they had ever been before. I remember for me it seemed particularly poignant when she recieved the American flag from the soldier, and then laid the red rose on his casket before watching him lowered into the ground. Time should have stopped long before then, but the moments were only shorter. And then they were too long. She was broken. Part of her still living in the moments where she found Grandpa and part of her learning to live without him.
I felt the duality of moments after Abby was born. And again after Josh was born. It seems unfair that my body can't be fully healed immediately after birth so that I can enjoy each precious moment. It seems unfair that I can't magically be rested despite of the night I've had before. I can't even retain maturity without sleep. I wanted the world to stop and wait after Abby was born. I wanted it so badly. To be healed before anything more happened. Now I realize that I missed a lot of opportunities and so while I wish it for Josh I certainly am not waiting for it like I did with Abby. I try very hard to live in this moment and cope with its ups and downs instead of living in the painful moments of labor or the restless moments of the night. My duality is a far happier duality than Grandma's. My before and after's are bitter sweet. I miss the days of just Adam and of just Abby but I am so happy for Abby and Josh. I'm certain that Grandma just wishes for her before, for her Donald. I remember her lamenting out loud and often. "Can't we resurrect him now?" "I just can't spare him" "Can't I just die now" Ironically I never before identified so much with my Grandma. I've felt that way before.
4 comments:
Many of us who have difinitive changes in our lives wish that we could just have our "old" lives back. More energy, more sleep, more time, less pain--our old lives seemed to be better, or really were better. Our "new" lives are difficult to get used to, but we cannot go back; so I guess we have to learn how to get on with it. Poor grandma!--queen mum
I remember feeling the same way at my fathers funeral. Although my mother had had time to prepare for that day, when my father would pass. This made it easier on her. But the day of his funeral, time seemed to stand still. It was the longest day I can remember living. We all know that day will come, but it doesn't matter, when it does come we are still not prepared. The hardest part for me was going to the cemetary, the 21 gun salute, the folding and the presentation of the flag to my mother, didn't bother me as much as when we went to the cemetary to pick out the two plots. One for my father who already passed, then the other for my mother, who chose her own plot.
Ah, but to know that death is only temporary! I always felt the same way about my babies and now I'm trying to enjoy my older kids, but it's hard. And even harder when I'm always working my butt off. I never really understood before why it would be such a privilege to be like God and be able to procreate throughout the eternities, but now that I am at a point where I won't have anymore babies I wonder if it will be as sweet then as it was with my current 5. Maybe sweeter
Liz your writting is quite profound. Thankyou for sharing your feelings.
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