When I put my daughter to bed, I sit with her in the rocking chair in her room until she's sleepy enough to get into her crib. There's a dim light, a flower light that we bought at Ikea when she was an infant, and there's always her blankie and her Curious George stuffed animal. I tell her I love her and I hope she has a good night. Lately, I end up crying almost every night. I end up thinking about my mom....in the beginning, I would tell her that Grandma loves her even though she can't see her anymore. But I realized that maybe that was just not appropriate for a one and a half year old to hear at bedtime. So I started to just think. Think about all that was and all that never will be. Deep, huh?
A few weeks after my mom died, I started to have these random memories just pop into my head at random times. I was sitting with Emily one night, going through our bedtime ritual, when I suddenly remembered what it was like to drive up to my parents' house once a week with the baby in the backseat. They would watch her for us on Thursdays; my dad has dialysis three times a week, so that was one of the days he was home. As soon as I pulled into the driveway, the garage door would open. My mom would stand by the dining room, waiting to see me pull up, so she could run to the kitchen and hit the garage door opener that sat just outside the kitchen door. She would come out, and stand in the garage with her hands on her hips, just waiting for that baby to emerge. Even now, I can see her in my mind and just how impatiently she waited. My mom waited her whole life to be a grandmother; I was in my twenties, I don't even know if I was married yet, and she started to talk about it. My sister is not the motherly type, so we all knew she would never have kids. I was her chance and it took me a while to get there. There are times now that I wish I had either had a child with my ex-husband, as disasterous as that would have been, or that I had gotten knocked up somewhere along the way, just so she would have had more time with the Grandma title.
At her funeral, I heard over and over how Emily was the joy in my mother's life. I knew she loved her and she talked about her, but to hear it from all of these people was both wonderful and heartbreaking. Her best friend told me that I gave her a beautiful granddaughter....I know she said something else but I can't remember what. As soon as anyone mentioned Emily, especially when Barbara mentioned her, I just burst into tears. I was so very sad, and remain to be so very sad, over the fact that my mom got gipped; she was only a Grandma for 18 months. She died before Emily's 19th month. When the oncologist in the ER asked what my mom was afraid of, she told him that she can't be sick. She was afraid that it was cancer and she couldn't be sick because I had a baby, her granddaughter, that was 18 months old and she had to be here to take care of her and see her grow up.
Before my mom went into the hospital, we sat around my parents' kitchen table talking about her admission and what would happen - the admission process, the tests she would need, the IV fluids, she asked if she would go on a respirator and we said no, she asked if they would put a catheter in and we said no. During that conversation we talked about Christmas, which had just passed a week before. She told us that Emily had walked up to her and said "Grandma sick?", to which my mom said, "Yes, Grandma sick but I'll get better" and Emily responded with "Okay" and went on her merry way. My daughter couldn't say any of those things at the time, nor can she say them now almost two months later. I knew things were bad before this conversation; I convinced my sister and my dad that admitting her into the hospital was the right thing to do so I knew it was bad. But this sealed the deal. Although they never found cancer in her brain, and maybe that wasn't the issue, but whatever was going on - be it cancer or malnutrition - she just wasn't right anymore.
I have pictures of my mom with my daughter - from the hospital the morning after she was born, from the first time a week later that I brought her to their house, from her first Christmas. I don't have any from this past Christmas, my mom's last, because I didn't want to remember her that way. It's sad that this is what I will have for my daughter to remember my mom by - pictures, and probably the things that we decide should be saved for her. I know there's some jewelry my mom would want her to have, and the teddy bear collection will eventually go to her. But it's not the same as having actual memories. My one and only grandmother died just before I turned 5, so I have some memories of her. I remember her looking at me, speaking Italian and not understanding why I didn't understand her - :) she was old school. I can remember her house, and her cooking and how much I loved both. And I can remember her face. At least I have those things to hold onto. My daughter won't have any of that. It just seems so wrong that, for so long it's all my mom wanted and she had it for such little time.
The funeral home put together a slide show of pictures for her wake, which was great. We found pictures from what my mom was a teenager, from my parents' wedding, from when we were kids all the way to when we were each married and when Emily was born. It was wonderful to have. When I walked into the funeral home that first day, my family was already there and watching it. As soon as I saw the picture of her holding Emily, I started crying. As a parent, and a daughter, that was the moment that broke me. Not only did I watch my mom die, but I watched my daughter's grandmother die. Someone that adored her more than she will ever know; someone that would have done anything in this world for her and her happiness. And now she's gone. Tears roll down my face as I type this, which makes typing pretty difficult, but it is just.....horrible to endure this. No one can truly understand, unless they've gone through it themselves, but it is a pretty crappy thing to lose a parent. Whether you were close or not, near or far, whether they were old or young, there is a void for you and your family - especially if you yourself have children - that will never be filled again. Her laughter, her voice, her smile...they are all gone now and all that remains are the memories of those which I will do my best to convey to my daughter and I will do my best to remember. Forgetting might be the least painful of the options, but I don't want to forget her. If it wasn't for her, I wouldn't be here let alone be the person that I am - flaws and all, I wouldn't change me and I wouldn't have changed her.
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