The Grieving Girl's Guide to Life

About 5 years ago, the guy I was replacing at work had a hell of a year. He had fallen in love the year before with a co-worker in his language classes and had just proposed to her. Shortly after the ring was on her finger, she became pregnant. They sold their condos, bought a big house in the country, bought a car, had a wedding, had a kid, then found out they were going to have to move to India in a few months.

"You know," I remarked, "you can space out this adulting thing. You don't have to do it all at once."

"I know," he chuckled, “But sometimes all the adulting just happens at the same time."

Truth.

To catch up:

When my mom died last December it was one of those things where when people ask “was it unexpected? Was it sudden?” my only answer was “kind of? But also not?” Basically, what I could say was “Five days in the hospital and she was gone”.

And that's that. It was, and continues to be, the hardest thing I’ve ever gone through, but life kept going, almost immediately. Two weeks after she died, I found out I got a job in the U.S. and would have to move in 2016. Two weeks after that, my maternal grandfather died. Two months after that, I found out that getting a visa for TB to work in the U.S. would be superfun! (note: it would actually be the opposite of superfun) and it would be  much easier if we just got married. But he insisted that he wanted to ask me, so I agreed. And on June 30th, under a sky full of stars, TB proposed to me with a story worthy of any Simpsons fan (more on that in a later entry)

Since that moment I've been running. In order to keep my upcoming job I have to become fluent in Spanish before next summer, which, when you're starting with a half-level above "dos cervezas, por favor" is a challenge, to say the least. The second half of 2015 has been full of getting my grandfather’s house ready to sell, planning a wedding, and conjugating verbs like it's my job (it is).

In 2016, language gods willing, I'll pack up my house, rent it to someone who won't destroy it,  find and rent a house in the U.S, and start a new job, all while grieving the two best people I ever knew.
I have no idea how I’m going to do it all, or if it’s even possible.

But adulting doesn’t wait until you’re ready – it just happens and expects you to catch up.

Thanks for running with me.


*Adapted from an earlier post on Offbeat Bride's forum before they closed in November 2015

It's not the big things

"But it is not these big holidays that make his loss hard for me, it’s really not. He was good at big things but he was best at the small things, at making me feel seen and heard and understood, remembering all of the things that made me Nora and loving me in spite of and because of them."

- Find the rest of Nora's awesome words about her husband, Aaron, here 

Nora gets it.

I crashed a little before Easter. I was given some assignment or another, went back to my office to make some edits and then just stared at my back office wall and felt the grief come in a wave. I closed my door, silently cursing the tiny window that looks into the hallway, and turned away from it, letting the quiet sobs rack my body. In between sobs I called my friend C who was in an airport in Moscow, trying to cram an overpriced sandwich in her mouth before boarding the plane to Armenia. 

"You got this girl. Fuck, I should have called you sooner. Easter, Passover, shit, I should've known this weekend was going to be hard on you."

"*I* didn't know they'd be hard! I was fine. It just happened!"

Of course, you're always fine until you're not. And thanks to C, just as quickly as it descended on me, it was over. I pulled myself together, collected the paper someone had slipped under the door (seriously? You can't wait 15 fucking minutes? Okay, then.), made the edits and went on with my day. 

I had been silently dreading Easter for a while, until that point. I was convinced it was going to be a shitty reminder of a holiday I don't care for (don't like ham or scalloped potatoes, not religious, can take or leave milk chocolate or jelly beans) that was only kept going because of the people I'd lost. The human brain is so weird. For years I groaned as my mom made us dress up, go to Church, eat a dinner I didn't like, all while taking up chunks of an otherwise perfectly nice long weekend. It occurred to me then that there was no one to make me do that any longer. I am what I always longed to be - an adult. And while I wouldn't go so far as to say I wish someone was ordering me into a poofy dress and shoving a plate of milky taters my way, I missed it, sort of. I was really struck at how the loss her and my grandparents has led to my own forced autonomy. 

The day itself turned out to be okay, uneventful, calm, and with TB's parents out of town, very lowkey and family-free. Passover fell on Good Friday, so I did that instead, singing the songs, eating the food and reading the words that connected me to my father's history instead. Easter Sunday was spent with Netflix and discount peanut butter cups, and while I couldn't get the nagging feeling out of my head that I should have been doing something, in retrospect, my only wish is that I'd spent less time worrying about it in the first place.

This was my thought process going into Mother's Day. Of all the tough days I had planned for after my mom died this one was, punnily, the mothership. A day meant for worshiping moms and all they've done for you. For many of my fellow 30-somethings, this meant a day to thank their moms as grandmothers, posting charming multi-generational photos of their happy, intact families. Torture for the unmothered, in other words. But I decided to take my therapist's advice and just face the day as it came, no concrete plans, no expectations, just as-is. 

And it was okay. Really. My sister, dad and I went to a plant sale together, where we bought seeds and flowers and raspberry bushes from a bunch of nice, if slightly odd, plant folk. We went to brunch, where we miraculously found a spot at once of my favourite breakfast places. Even surrounded by mothers and their kids, it was okay. We toasted her with excellent cups of coffee and mimosas, ate so much other patrons stared and talked about nothing of consequence. My father bought me a bouquet of flowers just because, and we went to my place and barbecued a chicken with a beer can up its ass, then polished off a bottle of wine. I stayed off of social media for the most part, which was a good move. And I didn't cry, not once. Mostly because, as Nora says, the big days, the holidays, the missed events, aren't always the monuments to sadness you think they'll be. Instead, it's in the small, silent moments - the fastening of a necklace, the curled up leaf of a lily, the death of a beloved celebrity - that you realize she's gone, and you wish she wasn't. 

Happy Mother's Day, mom.

A Nice Start

Somewhere in the sleepy moments between when TB got up to shower and I rolled over to watch the dog puke, she was there.

We were with my grandfather in his backyard, her standing and looking at me, and my grandfather in his favourite outdoor chair, playing with cats that wouldn't do as they were told. I told her about the arguments my sister and father had been going through, about my therapy, about the realizations I was having, about the conclusions I was tumbling toward. They listened, as they always did, as I ran through everything that was swirling through my head.

What made this one so different from the others was that all along, I knew she was dead, and I knew it was a dream. 

"I've been waiting for you to come to me," I said, "Not just as a side player in some larger story, but as the star, for a real visit. They say I'm supposed to feel you everywhere, all the time, or at least when I need you most, but I don't. You're there, and I'm here and that's how it is. But this, this is what I meant."

She nodded, and we hugged and I thanked them both for listening and for visiting and for just... being there. Letting me catch them up. Allowing me a moment to unload.

And then I was awake, everything fading rapidly except for the feeling of fullness, contentment, rising out my chest. Of course, writing this, it now feels like a tugging, grasping ache, a tidal wave of desire to be right back on that sunny lawn with those I love and two bizarre little kittens. But in that moment - it felt like being home again.

I'm not a big believer in religion or spirits or anything like that, but I hope you'll forgive me my little indulgence today and allow me a moment to think that maybe, a little message made its way from the great perhaps this morning. 

Thanks, mom. Now, if you'll excuse me, the dog's puking yellow again.

That's enough

I had a dream about her this morning. In the scant hour between when the dog woke me up with her morning freak out,  and when i acquiesced and actually opened my eyes, she was there.

There was a lot of noise at first. I was at TB's parents' house. His family had just seen guardians of the galaxy and were discussing whether or not it was racist*. The doorbell kept ringing but we ignored out, eating cookies instead. I looked out the window at my family pulling up in a van they've never owned and i was waving furiously, worried that after i ignored their 9 doorbell rings they would leave without coming in. Not to worry, they all came in, bringing Tupperware I'd forgotten at their place.

I was stressing out to my sister about what the last present i bought my mom was. I had my dates all mixed up and my sister said "just ask her". And then, there she was. My heart was instantly full of her. A cruel trick of the brain means she's nearly always wearing what she did in her casket, and this time was no exception. But still, she looked beautiful. Hair done, jacket crisp, even her teeth looked whiter than usual - proof that Crest whitestrips are truly a gift from god.

The relief of being able to ask her something was overwhelming. "Mom, " do you remember whether you received the last present i got you for mother's day?" I asked. She thought for a minute "no, i don't think so, " she replied,  "i was pretty sick then. "**

I apologized and said I'd give it to her later but she turned to me and said "what i do remember are your big, radiant smiles beaming at me. You and your sister looked beatific."

Then i asked her if she wanted to get waffles with us tomorrow morning and she said "sure". And it felt so good knowing we'd get a table for five, not four.

I don't know if this means today's going be a good day, or a maudlin one, but we're damn sure going to eat waffles.

*i cannot speak to the racistness of that particular film. My brain has questions, apparently.

**this is untrue - she was fine on mother's day and i got her flowers and gifts after that as well. But i hate to correct dream people so i let it slide.