Wednesday, February 20, 2013

Loss

On Friday, February 15, my maternal grandmother passed away.  She would have been 91 on Feb 28.

I mourn the loss of my last grandparent.  My beloved grandfather passed in 1991.  He was 79 years old.  I had just finished my freshman year at SDSU, and came back that night to the devastating news.

My last memories of him are happy ones.  Hearing his voice tell me he loved me when I spoke for him for the last time on the phone.  And the last time I saw him was when he was waving goodbye to me from the window of his home as my parents drove us away after dinner that night.

Those are cherished memories.

With my grandmother, the feelings are a little different.  She had been in a nursing home for almost three years.  With each visit, we saw her quality of life diminish until her final days where she barely acknowledged our presence.  As my mom explained, grandma became very depressed.  Understandably, any new friends she made at the home, well, they passed.  We weren't able to see her as often as we would have liked.  Any colds in the family prevented us from visiting her in her delicate health.

Having a new son, her great grandson, in day care led to even more colds and mysterious viruses that prevented me from seeing her.  Fortunately, she did meet him several times.

During his first visit, he grabbed onto her hand and started smiling immediately.  I hadn't seen grandma smile in years, but she was beaming that day.  It was a beautiful moment, and I only wish there were more of them.  My boy just stared and smiled, and kept reaching for her hand.

My son will never remember his great-grandma, but I will make sure he knows her through pictures. We made sure to get a four generation picture at Christmas. 

With grandma's passing comes great relief within the family.  Sounds horrible, but I mean that she is finally at peace.  It was difficult seeing her deteriorate the last few months.  She lost interest in food, and ultimately, stopped eating completely in the final days of her life.  She went to sleep and never woke up.

My mother is an incredibly strong woman, and in this loss of her own mother, she only worries about me and how I am handling it.  I can't believe her.  Here I am worried about her.  My mother is my best friend.  I don't want to even humor the thought of losing her.

I hope now with grandma's passing that my mom can find peace and can breathe freely.  She was a dedicated daughter who did all she could for her mother, before and after grandma had to move to a nursing home because of health reasons.

A prayer for my grandmother:  Po Po, I hope that you have found peace and that you have reunited with your family in Heaven.  Please don't worry about us.  We are a strong family and will support each other in every way.  We mourn our loss, but we take comfort in knowing that your suffering has ended.  That you are once again running and laughing and enjoying 'life'. We love you and will miss you until we see each other again one day.

Tales of old

How often do I hear my mother tell stories about me as a baby or a little girl?  A lot. Over the years, there are the occasional new stories, but for the most part, it is the same few stories repeated with as much enthusiasm as if it were being told for the first time. I admit, my first response is usually, "oh not again."

And finally, now that I have my own child, I get it.  As a mother, there are moments in your child's life that only you will experience.  Whether it's the first time your baby wraps his delicate, but surprisingly strong, fingers around yours.  Or the moment you raised a spoon of "whatever puree" to your baby's mouth and watched his expression of tasting something other than breast milk for the first time in his life. Those are your moments.  And unfortunately, you will be the only one who remembers them. 

These moments I had with my son, though experienced not long ago, are already treasured memories.  One day, it will be my turn to look back and in an attempt to relive those moments again, I will be telling (and retelling) my grown son these stories.

Already I've been sharing my "favorites" with friends.

Connor is at the age of crawling.  He hasn't quite mastered doing it on his knees yet.  He, more or less, shimmies on his tummy - pushing off with his feet.  My husband calls it the "commando crawl."  One day, Connor and I were on the floor and he started to shimmy away from me.  He got about 3 feet when I grabbed both of his ankles and pulled him back towards me.  That didn't stop him - he just started crawling again.  Again, at about 3 feet, I pull him back to me.  And again, he started crawling away from me.  By this time, I wanted to see how many times we would play this game.  Once more I pulled him back to me.  This time, he paused for a short moment, and then started flapping both arms and kicked legs, and let out a whine of frustration.  It was hilarious.

I may have told this story once or twice... but it was a wonderful little moment I shared with my son, and I want to relive it over and over.  I've become my mother.