The Necklace

I’ve been wearing this necklace that was my mom’s – I had given it to her the Christmas before she passed so she never got to wear it, but I still consider it hers.  I had bought a very long chain for it (she hated anything near her neck), so it’s an unusual piece for me to wear, since I usually don’t wear anything this long.  It also makes it more noticeable to my 2 year old, who now knows it’s Grandma’s necklace.  Last night she said “momma, Grandma buy for you?”, to which I had to explain that no, this was Grandma’s but she’s no longer with us and now it’s mine and one day it will be hers. She asked “me….my necklace?” and I said that yes, one day when she’s bigger and old enough to wear it, it would be hers.  She had a big happy grin on her face that I hope my mom could see.  Nothing would make her happier than to see that little girl smile. It was an odd conversation to navigate with someone so young who doesn’t understand or really even know about death yet.

The necklace is a gold shamrock, with some small diamonds in it. My mom was Irish, and I thought that at the time, she needed all the luck she could get.  I had visions of her wearing it to treatments, but that never happened.

Today happens to be my daughter’s first day of pre-school.  So last night, as we sat together in the chair in her room before bed-time and we had the necklace conversation, I told her just how much Grandma loved her and would be sooooooooo proud of her right now for doing so well in her new classroom.  My little one just continued to stare and play with the necklace and said “yup, Grandma no here…Grandma love me”.  It was a sweet moment that I hope, somehow, my mom saw or heard or knows about.  If she was still here, I would have called her as soon as Emily was in bed.  But I can’t do that now.  As much as a part of my brain still thinks that I can, most of my brain knows that I can’t so that’s what stops me from actually picking up the phone.  It’s those moments that make it ‘real’ all over again, makes me realize that it’s not just some movie that I saw. I lived through it, survived it, will never be the same because of it.

I try to not think about it as much as I used to, now that it’s been over a year.  I try to not dwell; not that I think I ever did it on purpose, I had no control over the days that I spent in a battle with my emotions while I sat here at my desk attempting to focus on something other than my loss and shock and sorrow.  It’s better now, but I still get hit out of the blue by it and when I do, it truly takes the wind out of my sails.  And I don’t always realize it until it’s on me – there are times that I just lose my temper, or I’m just more impatient than normal, or I just have an unbearable need to be alone. Those are the days that I think “oh yeah, it’s one of those dead mom days again”.  And I just have to ride the wave, try to be ‘normal’ and get through it with a strong belief that the next day will be better.  Most of the time it is better, but those consecutive bad days still exist and I suppose they always will.  Unlike my mom, grief never dies; you never get to say “grief no here”.  It’s always here, maybe hiding behind a door or lurking behind the couch waiting to jump you and scare the living crap out of you.  But it’s there.  It might be in a song, or in seeing a favorite item or flower of hers, or in the picture that hangs next to my desk that today, caught my eye and made me stand and stare for a moment, while feeling that emptiness that has become all too familiar this past year.