7/2/22 – Part III
Grief. Seriously, I’m not really suggesting there is good grief. But Grief is necessary in order to heal. To grieve is to allow yourself to experience the intense feelings of disbelief, despair, and sadness. Those feelings are part of the healing process, so allowing yourself time to grieve is healthy. it’s not about attempting to forget. That, after all, would be impossible for me. You just don’t forget the highlight of your life for the past 21 years! It is safe to say that almost all the highlights of my life included my granddaughter, so who wants to forget? Sometimes, it was just enough to see her face. Grieving is about allowing yourself to keep going, rather being stuck, which is exactly how I feel. As impossible as it feels right now, I know there will be no healing unless there is grief. Grieving is painful, but necessary. It is unavoidable. Ignoring the pain doesn’t make it go away, even though right now, it feels that it will remain forever. To some degree it will. I just want it to hurt less.
As I age, I realize that unless I go first, I will eventually lose friends and family. My hope is that I’m done for a good while, but of course I thought the universe was done with my ass back in 2020. Losing folks to age and illness is one thing. This s#*t here, is quite different.
Yesterday, it hit me like a ton of bricks. In fact, even today, it feels like the weight of those bricks are burying me alive. I felt short of breath. Like someone was hugging me way too tight. I felt a stabbing pain and even checked to make sure the underwire in my bra hadn’t sprung loose.
For the past few weeks, I have focused my attention on my daughter and grandson’s needs. The house that I bought for them is now the last place anyone wants to be. We are all still waiting for our girl to come through that door. Waiting to hear that God awful music she would blast in the car. You know? That whiny mouth-full-of marbles BS these kids refer to as music. She would sing along loudly and out of tune. We miss her noise. That silence I feared for weeks is upon us and that silence has been accompanied by feelings of emptiness.
A few weeks ago, I put my supermom cape on with the mission to save the rest of my children. (I only have one, but her kids are my kids.) They wanted out and I needed to make sure they had some place to go. My plan had already been to give them that house and to find something small for myself, but that all changed. Now I wanted a home big enough for us all so that I, for at least a while, could take care of them. Sadly, for buyers it isn’t a great time to be looking. While it’s a great time to be a seller, the reality is that even if I was lucky enough to find something, it would be overpriced, and I would have to convince the sellers to sell to me. It would also be costly since I will be swapping out the existing loan for one with a 50% higher interest rate and likely be part of bidding war that would sideline my efforts. But I would move a mountain to help my kids. And quite frankly, to help myself. I believe it will give me great comfort to have them with me.
I was fortunate to have found a pair of compassionate sellers. One is an artist. Now I just need to sell mine. Between preparing the house to be shown and dealing with the never-ending paperwork of buying and selling, in addition to insurance and legal matters, to some degree, I was able to postpone my grief. Oh yeah and throw in being broadsided and nearly killed by an idiot making a left turn from the right lane nearly sending us into oncoming traffic. Instead, just injured, and in someone’s yard with a totaled vehicle! My neck and shoulder pain were only a slight distraction, but sadly it has contributed to sleeplessness. (As if I needed that!) Now that I am just waiting on the process to be completed, I finally had time to hurt. (Physically, and emotionally!) While driving to get my daughter’s daily green smoothie, it hit me. I felt weak. My legs felt heavy, and I felt like I needed to pull over in case they decided to stop working. My heart literally ached as if it was physically splitting in half.
My besties that were there from day one to offer their love and support have stuck by my side the best that they can. And while I appreciate their loving care, there is still a sense of profound loneliness. No one can fill this unimaginable void. The void is like a deep hole that I’m trying desperately not to fall into. There will never be a substitution for the love I had for my “Noodle.” She was just an amazing human. Beautiful inside and out! Sorry. Cutest baby EVER. Seriously. Don’t look at your baby.
A few of my friends check in. I haven’t really had the desire to have a conversation with anyone other than a select few. The list is short. It consists of those that were close enough to me to have known her and to some degree share my feelings of loss. I just don’t have the energy to keep suppressing my grief. I can’t do that to make others comfortable, so I have just avoided most people, including phone conversations. You know, folks telling me to pray. I have only ever prayed for one thing. “Keep my kids safe.” You see how that worked out?
I don’t want to explode on them when they suggest they know how I’m feeling. The loss of a child is like no other loss. If you have never lost a child, (and I hope you never do) you will never understand this pain. Please do not try. Trust me. You never want to know this type of pain. There’s simply nothing to compare it to. When you lose your child, you lose a piece of yourself.
We all experience grief when we lose a loved one. I am not dismissing that at all. I have lost loved ones. It was painful. This is different. This is devastating. And you might say, but she wasn’t your child. She was your granddaughter. And to that I will say, she was my “other” daughter. She was a daughter to many, from her “Aunt Deb,” a/k/a D’uber (chauffeur, who also doubled as bodyguard and bacon supplier.) to her basketball coaches. I’m so grateful to her coaches. Coach Matera’s words at the service were the only ones that offered the slightest bit of comfort. As far as I’m concerned, no one else needed to speak! Coach Matera and Coach Chris Palladino had a great influence on Ciré and I’m forever grateful to them for seeing her potential and loving her up.
As a single mom who often worked multiple jobs to provide for my kid and myself, I was able to do things with my her, and for her that I was unable to do with my own daughter. I can only imagine my daughter’s pain if mine is this intense. But unlike myself, my daughter is religious and I’m hoping has found comfort in her faith. I hope I can provide the rest.
Some of my newer friends and acquaintances text to let me know that I’m in their thoughts and prayers. Folks want you to “get back to normal.” Folks that showed up with fried everything and abundance of processed meats, (grateful I swear!) have returned to their daily routines. Their life is back to normal. My new normal is grief.
I googled the stages of grief to see where I was. Where I am, is stuck. As usual, I’m multitasking. I’m in at least three of the stages. Shock. Denial. Bargaining. Still offering up my life to have hers back. Hasn’t worked yet. I’m struggling with the finality of never seeing my Noodle again.
No more “Mom Mom” texts that were followed with anywhere from thirty minutes to a day of waiting for the other shoe to drop! Uh oh. What does she want? Need? I think she made the rounds between the mom, the grandparents, and Aunt Deb. Someone was going to give her what she wanted. She would circle back as she might have struck out on the first pass. She had us all wrapped around finger. No more cash app requests several times a day to mom and Aunt Deb. She knew I didn’t do apps, so I wasn’t on the cash app request list! No more texts that would bear no resemblance to the English language.
As I write this, I’m sitting in row 2F on my flight west that if not for legal commitments I would have canceled. Unbeknownst to her, she was coming with me. (Not for the entire time!) Without her, it will not be fun. When she visited me pre-pandemic, she couldn’t do a lot because it actually rained. (Yes, it rains in southern California!) Quiet as its kept, I wasn’t sad. Some of it seemed a little dangerous to me! But then of course, no more dangerous than watching her cross NYC streets with me while looking at her phone! I was there to protect her. I was not getting on that paddle board! I wanted to make it up to her. She said she wanted to come with me for a few days. I told her the flights were too expensive. Of course, she wanted to bring a friend, but I was planning to surprise her. I wanted some Noodle and me time.
She asked me if I had ever flown first class. I joked and told her, “All the time. Once you are in front of that curtain, it’s hard to go back!” I used to get free upgrades all the time and now I’m a little spoiled. I wanted to spoil her. I wanted to surprise her and bring her with me on this trip in first class. Instead, someone else’s child is next to me in 2C. I’m sad. That was her seat. (And he’s big and a leg shaker! I HATE THAT!)
I wish I could be excited about seeing an ab or being able to step out of my jeans without unbuttoning them. I have had very little appetite and many days over the past month have been hard pressed to finish even one meal a day. Even when I’m hungry, five bites in, I’m full. I do not recommend this diet! I’m actually surprised that I’ve lost weight considering I replaced meals with Cabernet.
I do find comfort in knowing I was a good Mom Mom. I tried to protect her and teach her. I know she knew she was loved. We all told her constantly; pretty much daily even if she took forever to reply or answer! I know I set a good example to go for what you want, and I know I, her mom and surrogate Mom Mom Aunt Deb instilled in her that she could do whatever she set her mind to. I know that I provided an example that love, and friends comes in all shapes, sizes, race, and sexual orientation. Love is love. The race that matters most is the human race. Embrace and celebrate who you are and love everybody. Try to. (Some folks do make it difficult!)
I’ve been told that I may not feel her presence while in the state of anger. Maybe she thinks she’s in trouble with me and even in spirit doesn’t want to hear mom mom’s mouth! But I hope to find comfort when I eventually work through the stages of grief and feel her presence.
Actually, that may have already happened. Last week for no apparent reason, and witnessed by family and strangers, my water glass in a restaurant just flew off the table. It didn’t slip off because the table was wet. I checked! I didn’t touch it. My arms were folded on the table. It just slowly moved across the table and jumped off. Kid you not! Even the guy at the next table said, “I saw that!” Maybe it was her letting me know she was with me and as always making a damn mess!
At least she knew not to knock my wine glass off the table.
