Grief
Grief is uncomfortable. We just lost Mimi, and I was so unfamiliar with this kind of grief that every new wave confused me. I was “okay,” but I kept thinking that I wasn’t responding right: too sad, not sad enough, making jokes too soon, etc.
She passed late Thursday evening, but I didn’t find out until my Dad told me at 5 AM on Friday. But I actually knew at around 3 AM. I woke up at around this time, saw a lot of missed calls from my Mom, a few texts telling my siblings and me to call them. I made a couple of calls and no one answered. Deducing that if everyone’s asleep, it probably means that no one got arrested and was waiting on bail.
Mimi. She was in the hospital for a bad fall and a broken hip, but we all fully expected to see her at Thanksgiving this year. I remember feeling weirdly calm. I felt bad because I thought I should be crying. Grief is uncomfortable.
Sadness was setting in, uncomfortable and cold. I already knew that the world doesn’t stop moving when you lose a loved one, but it feels different when you’re the one standing still.
I stayed awake because I knew it was only a couple of hours until someone else woke up and they would tell me what’s going on. Sure enough at around 5, I got the call from my Dad. He confirmed what I was thinking: he’d lost his Mom. I cried a little, but I didn’t want him to hear because I knew if I cried, he would too. And if I heard him cry, then I would just cry harder, and the last thing either of us wanted was to have a 5 AM over-the-phone cry fest. I prefer to deal with my feelings alone, and I’m pretty sure he does too.
We got off the phone and there was a weird emptiness. Sadness was setting in, uncomfortable and cold. I already knew that the world doesn’t stop moving when you lose a loved one, but it feels different when you’re the one standing still.
I am grateful for many things:
Dad got to see her multiple times in her last days. Mimi lived about an hour away so the most my Dad gets to see her is once a month typically. Not that I’m grateful she was in the hospital, but because of her surgery, he was with her.
Grandpapa moved in with her a few months ago. They divorced long before I was born, but they’ve always stayed friends and in contact. They only saw each other once every few years for big family events like weddings and graduations, but they got to spend her last months together.
Oddly enough, I’m grateful that I “knew” beforehand. I don’t like to be caught off guard when other people are present.
The more I got ready for work that day, the sadder I became. I wasn’t at a point of thought really, but of feeling. It wasn’t devastation or horror or anger. It was grief in its simplest form: the reality that she wasn’t here anymore kept setting in. It’d been months since I last saw her, and I won’t have that chance again. But, I’m also grateful that we grew up with a lot of memories of her: spending so many Christmases with her since childhood, her getting us kicked out of Cracker Barrel (she’s a feisty woman), frustrating memories, sweet memories, all of it.
As often as it occurs, you’d think we’d be used to someone passing. But that’s not quite right, is it? We should grieve and mourn and celebrate their life on this side of Heaven. Every life is beautifully unique, and we should give one another the deserved attention, care, and honor when we pass on.
“We were born to try to see each other through.
To know and love ourselves and others well is the most difficult and meaningful work we’ll ever do.”
Sleeping at Last, “Nine”