7/31/08

Life is full of moments... Most are insignificant, or at least not very memorable, but some of those moments stay with us forever. Do you remember the moment you became an adult? Maybe a graduation, a "real" job, a break-up, a first home, a birth or a death carved out that milestone.

I thought becoming a mother officially made me a grown-up. Rex's birth certainly changed me. The first time my own child was placed in my arms, my definition of self was revamped. "It's not about you anymore," I was told. Nothing has proved so true.

It was, in fact, another life-altering event that made me an adult, however--an event that I'm still reeling from. The day Gram died shook me to the very core. I know that her passing has changed me and will continue to do so as I find my footing in the world without her physically beside me.

It was so hot that day. I dressed the babies in only t-shirts and diapers when we left to take their father to work. Nearly at the restaurant, my dad called with the "turn for the worse" message, "Get there as soon as you can." As I hung up the phone, I knew she was no longer with us. My first thought was, "I can't take the babies, they aren't wearing pants." I had been worried about how her passing would affect them, but I knew they couldn't see it. That would be too much, for me and for them.

I called Steve to see if he could watch them for a couple of hours, and he didn't hesitate. After dropping them off at his house, I drove to the hospital, chain smoking and knowing...terrified...

I walked out of the elevator and was spotted by Sister Amy, the Hospice chaplain, from her office. She ran out and took me by the hand, looked into my eyes, searching for some sign as to whether she should share the news...I just hugged her and burst into tears. A part of me hoped I was wrong...but I saw it on her face. My Dad came out into the hallway and waved me into the room--the room wherein she had, just the day before, been fighting with all she had left.

I went to Gram, acknowledging no one else, sat at her bedside and held her cold hand. I fixed her hair, and silently cried. My aunts were crying, too. She had a rosary in her hands, the one I brought her. Rex had seen it in the lost and found at the restaurant and it was so pretty, he brought it home...it was crystal, with blue beads between the decades. The date on the medal was 1940-something. When Rex gave it to me, I thought about how old it was, how it must have meant so much to someone to have been kept for so long. I found it in my bag at the hospital, and had left it there in case she came back to herself, knowing prayer would bring her comfort. And there it was, wrapped around her hands, which were now no longer her own. I wonder what happened to it...

Gram didn't look like herself. Her skin was yellowish and cold. Her face was sunken, her mouth open, teeth out, glasses off. I couldn't take my eyes from her face. She was so frail, the hospital gown came off at one shoulder. I remember Aunt Lynn asking if we thought Gram had found Dzadz yet. We sat in the room for awhile, and I can't recall what we discussed. The Kleenex box kept getting passed my way, but I just wanted the tears to flow. Sister Amy came and prayed with us, and she sang. I don't remember any of that specifically either, but I know she held my hand, rubbed my back, and talked to me in her office afterward. I remember confiding, "I don't know how to live without her." Sister Amy said, calmly and quietly in the face of my heartbreak, "You don't have to. She will always be with you." In the moment, that was no consolation. Nothing could console me then. I don't remember leaving the hospital or driving home, or even the rest of the day, though I know I made several phone calls. I must have picked Rex up from work later that night...all of that escapes me...

There are very few people we can count on no matter what, and Gram and I were that for each other. Losing her brought such sadness and fear...no one will love me like she did. I felt like I stood alone: alone in my grief, alone in life...and furthermore, had two little lives to guide at the same time. That was terrifying. I was not alone, but it really felt that way. I remember voicing all of this to Rex, and wanting more than anything for him to tell me that he was there, whatever I needed, that he loved me, that it would be okay. He did none of the above. I needed to hear that from him. I really needed him, and I don't like admitting that, but he turned away, and that broke my heart even more.

Seeing that, feeling that, and thinking about what it all meant, brought me here. I don't know my next step, but again, I feel like I stand alone. Those decisions are mine, and I make them for myself and my children. I am grown, and I'm growing everyday.