It's a Place of Grief

My little Nana (my mother's mom) died May 31. It wasn't unexpected. She was 93, after all, and dementia had been increasing by leaps and bounds for the past couple years. But I so wasn't ready to say good-bye. 

Nana is the woman I was named after, and she was one of the most important people in my life. She was the one I called when I was confused (she was oh-so wise and loving), or hurting (her words were healing to bruised hearts), or lonely (I didn't get married until age 30, she didn't get married until she was a few years older than that - and in a family where most women marry between 19 and 21, well, let's just say we had a lot in common and she understood me when no one else did). Except from the time I was born until I was two, we lived long distance from each other. But she invested in me, poured herself into me, with calls, and cards, and letters, and sending me to youth camp and convention, and (after Bapa died) let me share her room at Family Camp. As my uncle said at her graveside this last week, "She made each of us feel as if we were her favorite."

Losing Nana has made some of the grieving over my baby resurface. I've been trying to shove so many emotions aside during the last number of weeks - intentionally, since I literally CAN'T deal with everything at once (see this post) and have been purposefully trying to deal with one issue at a time in the interest of staying sane - but grief has such odd ways of popping up when you really don't want to have to face it. Grief doesn't give you many options. It will jump on you at sight of a pair of eyeglasses or a baby's smile, a photo or a certain smell, a particular color or a song. And now I'm grieving both of them at once. The two are inextricably mixed. On one hand I'm grieving a woman who impacted my life, who helped shaped who I am today, who encouraged and loved and held me, and on the other hand I'm grieving a baby I never held in my arms, who doesn't have a name. Both the woman and the baby affected me inside and outside: the woman, because her genes are in me, and her character and love for God is what I have tried to imitate... the baby because it was living inside me and changed my body, and also changed the way I view life and love and other things.

Someone reminded me a few days ago of something I had written during Nana's battle with dementia. I decided to reprint it here. 

The Next Big Event

It upsets me. It makes me sad. Sometimes it almost makes me cry. And sometimes it almost makes me angry. It makes me want to ask her to please quit talking that way.

What am I thinking of? I'm thinking of the times Nana starts talking about dying. The times she talks about "after I'm gone". The times she wants to plan her memorial service. The times she talks about how long she's lived and how heaven is next - as if her life is over.

But today I got it. I really, really got it.

You see...
In grade school I looked forward to summer. It was my Next Big Event.
In winter I looked forward to my birthday. It was my Next Big Event.
In December I looked forward to Christmas. It was my Next Big Event.
In high school I looked forward to graduation. It was my Next Big Event.
In summer I looked forward to family vacation. It was my Next Big Event.
In my 20's I looked forward to falling in love. It was my Next Big Event.
While I've been engaged I've been looking forward to my wedding day. It's my Next Big Event.
When I'm married I'm sure I'll be looking forward to having a baby. It will be my Next Big Event.

Sometimes I've been impatient, eager, longing for my Next Big Event.
Sometimes I've been content and happy in the stage I was in, but I was still looking forward with anticipation to my Next Big Event.
Sometimes I've planned for the Next Big Event for days ahead. Weeks ahead. Months ahead. Even years ahead.
Sometimes I'd think about the Next Big Event. A lot.
Sometimes I'd talk about the Next Big Event. A lot.
Sometimes I drove everyone around me nuts by how much I talked about the Next Big Event.

I guess it would be fair to say that the Next Big Event was never far from my mind. Ever.

And now I get it.

Heaven is Nana's Next Big Event.

See, she's not happy here. She's in pain. She's missing people she loves that went to heaven ahead of her. And she knows that her life here isn't exactly improving.

She knows that in heaven she'll get to see Bapa again. She won't have pain. She won't be sad. Or lonely. Or fearful.

And it's her Next Big Event.

And suddenly, in my own mind, that makes all the difference in the world.

Well, guess what, readers... she's not confused any longer. She's not in pain. Or sad. Or lonely. Or fearful. She's safe. And happy. And peaceful. And contented. And smiling. And laughing. She's with Jesus. And I'll get to see her again. Her, and Bapa, and my Tiny One. 

But in the meantime... I miss them.

P.S. To the readers who came looking for a stepmom blog, I'll get back to that. Promise. But for now, this is Where I'm At. And it's just as much a part of who I am as being a stepmom is.

P.P.S. To the readers who alerted me they were having trouble commenting on posts because they didn't have a google account, the issue should be resolved now.