It's a cold and it's a broken "Hallelujah."

So I try to remain optimistic and delightful at all times.  It's how I roll.  I try to stay grateful and remind myself there are plenty of things to be grateful for. 

So as my first year of my journey with Grief comes to a close, here I am. Searching. 

I have had days that I have not been very grateful, or at least I didn't act like it.  

I've had days that I know life comes together.  

I've had days that I simply muddle through while missing my nana immensely. 

I've had days that I'm on top of the world and wishing she could be here to see it. 

All in all, at least I've had days. That's a privilege that will stop abruptly, whether it's tomorrow or forty years from now.   

So I find it particularly important to stick with my thanksgiving tradition of a Thankful Thursday blog post.

 It's not because everyone is doing it. 

        It's because I need to do it.  

My friends.  - Whether it's three in the morning or a lunch date that lasts for hours, they're there.  To make me laugh, to help me make sense of things, to listen to my guilt, to support me. I have real stand up friends and a few of them completely surprised me this year. From the people that I've texted and asked "when it will get better" or "do you think she's okay?" to the friends who get me when I say that "I'm just not into the holidays this year, but I do it for Lennon."  I thank you.  There are so many of you who have reached out or just sent some comfort. Just thank you.  

Guilt. - My oh my, does guilt change your soul. Nothing changes your actions quite like guilt does.  I am sure I am not alone when I say I lay awake at night and think of all I didn't do or, maybe worse, did do. Not enough time, not enough visits, not enough patience, too much sass, too much social life. In the grand scheme of things, I know that, wherever my nana is, she isn't holding a grudge about me being short with her when she asked how my ex was doing. I know she isn't clinging to the fact that I had a strict no smoking rule in my car. And I also know she probably isn't upset that I missed a few pizza nights here and there.  But I am. So I changed my behaviors over the last year.  Now, I try to treat everyone like they're someone's nana (or grandfather.) I try to take a deep breath when I want to shout. I still can't stand smoking so that's just not going to change.  And when I'm having a sad day, I do something nice for someone.  Usually I seek out an old lady and buy her a meal. The first time I did it, I choked out the words  "I should have done this more with my nana while I had the chance," and that old lady gave me a grateful & understanding smile. And today, I just wished another lady a happy thanksgiving quickly, she didn't even realized I paid for her.  I just wondered where her family was and how silly could they be to not spend time with this lady. Luckily, they don't know how much they'll miss her when she's gone. 

My tattoo artist.  - I know. But let me tell you. The relationship you have with your tattoo artist is intimate and steady. You cannot bounce from shop to shop and get the same experience. One of my tattoos took a total of sixteen hours.  Sixteen hours with a dude who's stabbing you repeatedly with a tiny needle that's coloring your skin forever. It's intense.  I had my first tattoo almost ten years ago. In the midst of a heartbreak. Since then I graduated with a master's (five tattoos during those years,) I moved to England (the sixteen hour one before I left,) I got married. Birthed a child.  Found/lost/found/lost/on repeat in regards to my faith.  & lost my nana.  Now, many people have been with me through that. But my tattoo guy doesn't give a crap what I say & he usually has good stuff to say back. When I asked him about using ashes and drawing up my nana's bar sign, he said he'd do it. Then when I came in with just her signature. He didn't mind that I was crying. There were no words exchanged. No cliches said.  No hugs.  No nonsense.  The dude let me cry, which is what is needed sometimes. Now, I have "Love, Nana" tattooed on me, & when the going gets tough, I swear that tail end of the A pops out like she's telling me to relax.  I'm grateful for every tattoo - even the ones I covered up. They're illustrations to my story.  

That I'm a jack of all trades! - I never stop. Obviously, I'm a mom. But I'm also a crafter, a LulaRoe consultant, a poofy organics guide, & I have an actual  job. I have little opportunity for grief to catch up to me.  I love doing my crafts. It's therapeutic & I'd like to think my nana would be proud.  My husband is my biggest fan of whatever I make & he always cleans up my crafty messes. & Pip always asks me to make him things and that warms my heart.  Dann used to joke that I didn't know how to relax & now I simply don't have the time. 

The guys of mine.- Lennon and Dann are my gratitude in people form. I can tell you every cliche about how wonderful my husband is and they'd all be true and not enough to express how amazing he is.  I wish I was exaggerating but he's pretty perfect. Lennon. That boy is my sunshine. He makes me laugh and he makes me crazy. He greets me every morning with a smile and he holds my hand as he's falling to sleep.  He is the real deal. Even though he may or may not shout, "free the boobies," as he's leaving the post office.  (Ok. Maybe Dann does have a flaw.) When I am sad we get into a big bear hug with the three of us and I am reminded I'm one lucky lady.  They're both happy and healthy. I cannot ask for more. 

My siblings. - we are like any family and we get on each other's last nerves. But there is no one that I'm prouder of or more defensive of than my gaggle of Chmils. My brother is my saving grace and I am grateful that he is successful, happy, and healthy.  He's always ready & willing to help, & if you catch him off guard, he might tell you a joke or two. My older sister. Her battle with addiction is no secret. Over the years, she's taught me how to love unconditionally and honesty, and also how to give tough love. I'm grateful that she's alive today because if you asked me six months ago, I'd have told you she probably wouldn't be. Sthe has another chance  & I hope this time is the golden ticket to the sober life she longs for. My younger sister.  My challenge.  Let me tell you. This girl drives me insane in every way possible. Let me also tell you.  No one has my back like this girl. She is my ride or die. Bodyguard, big mouth, or private LulaRoe deliverer, she's my girl. I'm lucky to have her as a sister, even if she makes my blood pressure go sky-high & my jaw tighten so much I might shatter my teeth. I've learned that little sisters do that.  I'm glad she's mine. 

 I'm also grateful for my sister-in-law & my brother-in-law. Jess is a perfect friend.  She lets me complain when I need to complain.   She helps me figure things out & talk through things. She is a sister to me and she's one I always needed.  The Other Corey.  He's a riot.  He's a no nonsense guy. Honest.  An under the table marine biologist. He puts Christa in her place when she's getting too rowdy. (To be fair all of the Chmil kids need to be put in their places more often than not.)  His dry sense of humor makes me chuckle and we all need some of that. 

     Of course, it goes without saying that I am grateful for all of my nephews and my beautiful niece. They warm my heart.  

My mama. - yeah. This is her third or fourth appearance.  I could actually post a reason every day that I am grateful for this lady.  But this time, I'm grateful for our convos. As I get older I realize that my mom and I are the same. She makes me laugh Bc she's a little zany.  She makes me crazy Bc she's a little impatient. She gives me a second to breathe Bc she offers relief. I probably do all that to her too.  

I've clung to my mom this last year (full on clinger.) I'm grateful for the meals.  For the laughs. For the not so fun times. When we unpacked my nana's boxes in silence and then tears and then laughter.  I know that I am beyond lucky to have my mom with me.  I try to make it a point to annoy my mom each day to keep her on her toes.  But really, I'm just needy.  She greets me with a smile and she tells me to go pound sand when needed.  Gratitude comes in many forms. 

I hope that,  even if you have had a hard year, even if you feel like a grinch, that can recognize how lucky you are to have your family & friends with you. That you can see that you have a roof over your head & food on your plate.  Hug all of your family members whenever you can. Be thankful for them today. 

And so it goes

It's hard to believe that it's a few days any of six months since my nana passed away. 

It's almost comical that people really tell freshly wounded grievers that time will heal the pain.  It doesn't. You just grow numb to it in some lucky moments.  It catches up to you though.  You'll be sitting in an ordinary situation and it will just hit you.  You'll think of them in a present way and it will smack you right in the soul that there are no longer present moments with your loved one. 

It's a beautiful thing at the same time. You learn a lot about yourself and those around you. You explore moments in your memory that you almost forgot about. You feel your heart break in a million pieces and have faith in yourself that you will put yourself back together again. And sometimes, if I'm honest, you just straight up and lose your shit because the hurt sucks and is unbearable. You spend a lot of time by yourself (or with a two year old.) You may grin and bear it, but you make it. 

I have yet to dream about her. It's weird because I'll dream about being in the bar and it's open and there are customers.  Just no bartender. She's always somewhere but never seen.  She's talked about. Her presence is felt, but I just can't see her. I just long to see her and hear her.  I hope that eventually It does happen.   I've searched for videos that I "know" I had and cursed myself for switching my phone a million times and losing voicemails from her. (Would they survive five years?) I've dug in my memory and begged my mind to give me a sound clip of her.  It's just so, so odd that I just can't hear her voice in my head. I can imagine any voice you can think of, but not hers.  

She didn't want to be buried.  That's hard. I have no where to go. When my friend's mom died, I'd go to her grave whenever I had too much on my mind. I never realized how much it would affect me to not have a grave to go to. Just for some peace and seclusion. It hurts to pull into the bar because I just wait for her to come to the back door to see "what's doin'." 

I've tried to treat people like everyone is (or will be) someone's nana. To live and treat people like my nana would because she was an extraordinarily kind woman. 

I just cannot believe she's gone. 

That right there. That is a genuine statement that I say or think at least once a day. I just think of all she did in her life and it's just stopped.  Simple and easy as that.  Only it's not simple or easy, is it?  I almost regret going to to the nursing home after she passed. It's a sight I cannot get out of my head. I know that I needed to be there, but I wish, just for a second, I was in England or somewhere that I couldn't get to her then.  It haunts me most of the day. I see it when I go to sleep and I see it if I let my mind wander for one moment. 

The roses that were at the funeral home for her were the most beautiful roses I have ever seen. I wish it was normal to take a photo in a funeral home because I will not see roses that beautiful again. She looked beautiful.  She looked peaceful and not tired anymore. There were so many roses.  So.  Many. She was literally surrounded by roses and it looked like she was on a bed of roses. I mean, as beautiful as death could look, she nailed it.  It was almost as if the area that she was laid out in was glowing. It sounds like such a cliche, it's obnoxious, I know.  But when the pain is too much to bear, I think about those roses and how honestly peaceful she looked, finally.  I think that's what I did while we were at the funeral home.  I remember smiling and just going on about how beautiful the roses were. People probably thought I was crazy. 

As I've mentioned, I haven't lost someone as close as my nana was before.  This is my first time at the rodeo, and for that, I know I am lucky.  It's such a learning experience.  Is this grief really chained to me for the rest of my life?What if I live for 70 more years?  Does other sadnesses just take over or are they separate? This was such a hit for my wide-eyed and bushy tail look on life. And I think, maybe because I am a writer, that I just can't let go because I can't put into words how I feel. (I could probably draw it, ha, it would look like Mr.  Messy.) 

So. I don't know.  I don't know if there are any other words people can offer me.  I think that l, much to my dismay, is something I have to do on my own. That's interesting because whenever others have lost someone, I was always ready to help. Ready to talk.  In their faces. I never once thought that they would want to be left alone. The last six months have taken a lot of what I thought I knew and changed it.  

I don't have a way to end this post.

Simple and easy as that.  

In the absence

I'm struggling today.  I don't want to say that I miss my Nana more than usual today because I honestly miss her more and more each day.  Some days, though, are simply harder than others. It's like I can feel the ache all the way in my fingertips instead of just a horrible pain in my heart. 

I think and I analyze and I search every moment of my memory from my first memories to my last with my nana.  I so desperately want to hear my nana's voice that I think the longing is drowning out the sound of her voice in my memory.  It's funny because I could swear that sometimes I think in my mom's voice, but I feel like that is even being drowned out.  

Our dog, Ginger, hated sticking her head out of a moving car window. She was tiny and she would come back into the car in a sneezing fit.  I wanted to know what her issue was so I did the same thing.  (I was a kid.) I quickly learned it was impossible to breath with my head out like that. That is what this grief is like. I am right in the middle of an ordinary moment, where life seems okay, and suddenly it hits me that my nana is gone, and I find myself desperately trying to catch my breath. It's unbearable and unnerving.   And unpredictable. 

I hate getting on the highway because I immediately think about the snowflake falling on my window, Nirvana playing on the radio, and just knowing I wouldn't make it back to the nursing home on time. But I can also remember driving up the expressway in my nana's car. And those memories make me smile, which that is always appreciated.  I can remember one time that my nana had to pack my sister and I in her car and get my mom, whose car broke down.  I was young, like Game Boy just came out young, and I had the light in the back on because I wanted to play while we were going to get my mom. (I needed lights on to see the screen, that's how old I am.)   Nana asked me to turn the light off because she couldn't see while she was driving. I pretty have always thought about that moment when I would be on that part of the road. It's just funny how moments like that stick with you. Or there is the time that I picked up my cup of Dr Pepper by the lid and the lid popped off and soda went EVERYWHERE. My nana didn't get mad, she pulled over and helped me pick up the ice, and told me that I shouldn't pick up cups by the lid. She was the queen of towels on her car seat, so she scooped up the towel and put it in the back. We drove on. I got a Dark Wing Duck toy in my kid's meal and I was thrilled I wasn't in trouble.  It sounds so silly but those two lessons stick in my head - especially when my buddy, Jacob, spills his drink because he picks it up from the lid. And I, too, am the queen of towels in my car. 

I am perpetually optimistic especially when it comes to the lives other people.  I always believe that things will turn out okay. I'm always hopeful.  That, I think, is a big problem for me right now.  I had so much hope that she would get better.  I would bribe her to eat so she would get her strength up because that's all she needed. My own foolishness? Probably.  But I even told my mom the day that they gave my nana her last rites that we could be waiting for twenty years in the same place.  She would go when she was ready.  She still had time to get better.  That's how hopeful I was. I had never been given a person to give up hope in my life, and it always proved fruitful. But this. The death of my nana was also the first (and I hope only) time that hope was stolen right from under my feet.  Hope and I have never had such a break up before, and I am so clingy to it.  I hope I can dream of her tonight, where I can see and hear her. I hope this hurt feels better. I hope my mom has a good day and her hurt heals. But at the end of the day, I am reminded that hope is a dangerous thing and that I never noticed before. 

Untitled 1/23/16

Grief, man, what a heavy load. All of those cliches that I have heard over time are so true.  It does come in waves.  It does hit you like a ton of bricks out of the blue.  It is heart breaking.  

Twenty-one days.  That's how many days it's been since she left us. Twenty-two days ago I was telling her stories. Twenty-three days ago she was sitting up to hug people. Now, she's gone. Just like that.  I will not see my nana again, save my dreams. I simply cannot believe she isn't here. It's not like an I-can't-believe-I-left-my-phone-at-the-restaurant or I-can't -believe-that- the - steelers- lost. It's an I- wholeheartedly-can't-believe-that-I cannot- go- see- her, that I cannot hear her voice, or see her smile. 

I remember every time I'd leave the nursing home, I wouldn't get up and bend over to give her a kiss. I was terrified that I wasn't strong enough and I'd fall on her. What an asshole.  I'd blow her a kiss or kiss my fingers and touch her cheek, what I'd give to fall on her.  Then there were the times that I'd get there and she would be asleep, and I'd let her sleep. Why? Why didn't I just wake her up to talk to her? Selfish, I know. 

I hated going to the nursing home. But... I remember thinking the last time I left there that I wish I could come back a thousand times. I wish I could just go see her again. Just one more time. What I would give. 

The thing is, and maybe that's why I cannot deal with this, is that my nana was a just like a mother to me. My dad wasn't there, at least how he should have been. We had my mom and my nana. It's just like I loss a parent. It's just so deep. So invasive. So awful. 

And I don't know when it gets better. When the realization that nana is gone will stop taking my breath away.  I remember when talking about my physical pain, my mom used to tell my doctors that she didn't know if I was just used to the pain and thought that this is how a body should feel like or if I didn't complain because I didn't hurt. I still hurt from losing my nana. Will it get better or do you just get used to it?  What worse? 

I know for a fact, I believe 100% in the deepest corners of my heart that Nana wouldn't want me to be sad, or any of us to be sad. But how can you just not feel something through to the end.  It's like having to finish a book even though you know how the story ends and it's the dumbest ending ever. 

A huge problem is that I am finding little to be grateful for.  I will work on that. My nana was stolen away over five years ago and twenty-one days ago the thieves made sure she'd never return. Cruel.  And I don't know why it had to happen. I saw on the news today - a 105 year old barber who is still working! Why?  Why couldn't nana be the 105 bartender? It's like I get jealous when I see old folks out. What did they do differently?  

A friend of mine told me once that losing a loved one will always make you think of things in a before and after time span. It's so true. I think this at least ten times each day: I think that was before nana died and that was after my nana died. Like Jesus H. Christ, my nana died.  F. F. F.  I don't know why such a sweet person couldn't just stay here forever? 

When our dog got cancer I, ever so optimisticly, convinced my nana and my mom to drive to Cornell. I can still see my nana telling the staff, she (Ginger) is such a good dog. She's a nice girl. As if that would have helped Ginger live longer. There I was on New Year's Eve and New Year's Day, she's such a nice, kind, generous, and sweet lady.  Please just heal her and give her back to us. Almost just like Ginger, that didn't happen. 

You could be the sweetest soul your entire life, but in the end what does it matter? I hope that nana didn't feel pain, but it was still terrible for everyone, especially her. Just to wait. Literally wait to pass away. 

She studied my face so hard the last day. I like to think it was because all of her memory came back and she couldn't believe the person I grew up to be, even though I was just 26 when she started to forget things, I didn't have a child then or such great eyebrows.   I remember she was just staring at me.  She had no interest in going to sleep. I sometimes also think that she was studying my face so she'd recognize me when, and if,  I get to where she was going. So that she'd remember me in heaven. 

Sometimes I just don't know what to do with myself, especially when Lennon is asleep. If I stop and think, I end up writing blogs at 5 in the morning. I haven't been down and out in a very long time. I know for certain that I have never been this down and out. 

Epilogue

Truth be told I am still sad.  I ask my husband regularly if it's normal to be so sad.  I feel like I am dwelling and I loathe dwellers.  But we lived with nana. Nana took me on my first vacation. My first airplane ride was with Nana. My first trip to Disney was with Nana. My first time touching the ocean and feeling the sand was with Nana. Twenty-six Christmas mornings were with Nana. Birthdays. Sundays. America's Funniest Home Videos. The Bold and the Beautiful. First dog. Second.  Third. Fourth. Fifth. Homework. Graduation. Halloween. Making plain old sweatshirts into beautifully painted shirts. Wheel of Fortune. Hours, no, a lifetime of advice. Heartbreak and excitement. Fear and safety. Teaching me the right way to wrap Christmas presents. Pinball. Tasty cake cupcakes. Chocolate milk. Foot rubs. Getting us out of trouble. Car rides to the bank for a lollipop and Burger King on the way back. Nana waited in line with me for the Wii to launch. Nana told me that experience is a lousy teacher because she gives the test before she teaches the lesson. Boy, was Nana right on that one.  

Nana was literally a part of my every day for my entire childhood. I didn't move out until I was 22, and it just so happened that was the year I had my heart broken. So I spent all my time with her anyway. Dwelling? I don't know. I don't know. 

I was four minutes late getting to the nursing home in time before my Nana passed away. Four effing minutes. That's not even the length of a decent song. I could not drive any faster.  I couldn't find keys. I couldn't get my boots on. I couldn't move. There were 240 seconds that made such a infinite difference in what I think is fair and unfair. Nana did absolutely everything she could for me and I couldn't feckin' make it. Pissed is an understatement. It was close to two in the morning when I got to her room.  Every other resident in her wing was asleep and when I saw her I yelled, maybe screamed, "that's it?!" My mom and my auntie said "that's it," with tears in their eyes. The entire world faded away and I ached. My god. Did I ache.  

 I knew on my way there I wouldn't make it on time. I was driving way too fast and I said, "Nana, just wait. Please just wait and let me say I love you, just in case you forgot." Then the biggest, fluffiest snowflake plopped on my window. "I love you, too," popped into my head in her voice.  And I knew, by that snowflake, I was going to be too late. 

I know now why I wasn't there.  I would not have been able to let her go.  I would have been pleading and begging for help, which she didn't want. I would have made it harder on everyone else.  I am hopelessly optimistic and I would have been losing my mind to not doing anything, and I think I'd be living with guilt, regardless of what was inevitable and what nana wanted. To see that would have killed me. It took two full weeks, but I am at peace with the way my timeline happened. In fact, I came to this realization Saturday evening while trying to sleep - I don't remember anything else about my dream Saturday night except Nana's face here and there, and hearing "Let It Be" playing on repeat. It will be all right.   

The rest of the night that Nana found peace  is important, but it's no one's business.  My older sister got there and then my brother got there. There we were. The four kids who were lucky enough to have so much of her for our entire lives. Just sitting there broken. She was our first best friend. Lost puppies. That's what we were. (My mom and my auntie were there, but they had their own kind of hurt.  A hurt that I will never be ready for, although it has to be so similar.) 

When watching kids play football when we were growing up, and actually to this day, my mom always says how she feels bad for the team that loses, even when it's our team who wins.  "It's just sad that someone has to lose.  These kids tried so hard." Back to now. Eventually, we had to leave the nursing home. They couldn't proceed with arrangements if we were still in the building. We hung around for hours, just waiting. But finally we were told (nicely!) that we really had to leave.  My sisters were in the front of the line. My mom and my brother just a head of me and my auntie. Our heads  were hanging low and our hearts were heavy. I can't imagine that we hid our loss well. The nurses were kind and they smiled at us as we were leaving. They knew.  They know what door opens when the funeral home comes, and it was 4:30 in the morning, not really party time in the nursing home. They know, all too well, that someone has to lose. Looking back, we were the team that was defeated that night  by Father Time, who took our quarterback.  Our team's most valuable and loved player.  A beautiful and sad loss at the same time.  Let me tell you though, Nana played one helluva game and it is an honor to be a part of her team. 

💔🌹❤️

Thankful Thursday

Gratitude By Way of Babbling

Old Advice with a New Twist - A long time ago, when I was going through a butt of a breakup, my friend, Amanda, advised me to stop trying to ignore the pain. Let me say it again. Stop trying to ignore the pain.   (Read it again, out loud, and think about it.) She told me to embrace the pain. To learn from it.  To feel it. To live it.  Hands down one of the best pieces of advice I've ever received. Fast forward to this craptastic year. I've learned that the funny thing about grief is that it's like a huge pimple on your nose that you cannot ignore. You walk around with grief  as if it's an old friend, all day every day. You cannot ignore it. You cannot pretend it isn't there. It's bittersweet. Maybe it depends on how one copes with life changes like this.  For me, I create things - drawings, writings, or messes. I have not been so in tune with my stream of consciousness in so long. It's a blessing and a curse at this time in my life.  But I know that by taking grief head on I will be okay.  I am not putting it off until tomorrow.  I am not trying to hide from it. If I have to cry in the middle of A.C. Moore, then I do. And that is OKAY. I  miss my nana every second of the day.  When I close my eyes, I can see her smiling at me.  This is all very hard to "deal" with, but it will be okay. I think because I am handling it now, it will not hit me like a ton of bricks in a year or so. I am happy with that aspect.  I am babbling. 

Dreams -  I've always been a fantastic dreamer. My dreams are vivid, realistic, and, luckily, I can "control" them, meaning I can tell myself it's just a dream and to calm my arse down or to sleep as little longer because Johnny Depp is coming my way.  The last two weeks though my dreams have been empty  or unsatisfying. But full of Nana or thoughts of Nana and I am lucky. I should write them down when I wake up, but I should do lots of things.  I had a dream after my Nana's funeral that she was curled up on the couch watching tv. She was vibrant and full of life. I came into the room to talk with her and she was smiling and talking. It was wonderful to hear her voice and to see the smile that I long to see again. I had another dream on Sunday. My entire family was in my Nana's bar, The big lights were on because we were looking at photos and people were laughing and talking. I looked behind the bar, but there was no bartender. I saw Nana's empty chair, wondered where she went, and then woke up. I don't know how I feel about that dream. I think I missed her presence there and I feel like my dreams are the one place that can be left alone and away from reality. But I am grateful for that dream as well because the warmth and friendliness of Nana was so strong. 

My Friend Sarah - this coming April will mark fourteen years ago that Sarah accepted me into Marywood University. Never did I ever think we would end up such close friends. The days leading up to my Nana's funeral, I talked with Sarah about whether or not I wanted to go through with giving a eulogy for Nana. It's not that I didn't want to, because I did. The problem was that anything I wrote was absolute shite. Sarah encouraged me to go through with it and reminded me that I wouldn't regret giving a eulogy, even a crappy one, but I would regret not giving one. So I mean it was crappy.  Nothing I wrote or could have written would have been good enough for my nana. But I did it. I told the world just a whisper of what nana was like to me. They got the inside scoop from one of her granddaughters, whom she loved so deeply. I'm grateful that Sarah reminded me how important it would be for me to go through with it.  I hope I did well by Nana. 

Normalcy - Back in 2011 just as my mom left Liverpool to head to the airport, I was there, in that big old city, alone. I could not ignore the urge to get in a cab and follow her home.  I knew I couldn't do that. I had people to prove wrong and adventures to embark on. So instead of following her home, I did the one thing that fixes nearly everything. I took a nap. When I woke up I did the laundry and I had dinner. I don't know what happened after that, but I ended up married to a wonderful British guy and gave birth to the funniest and sassiest boy ever. So after the funeral. After I said goodbye to my first best friend, to the woman who helped me through so much, what was I do? I curled up with my Pippers and I took a nap. I woke up and did laundry. Then I ate dinner. Life continued on. My husband went back to work on Tuesday and our routine is nearly back. Life keeps on going and daily tasks must be completed. I am thankful for that. 

What Nana Was Able to See- As silly as it sounds, I am so grateful that Nana was able to see that we all ended up okay.  Nana was there to watch us get married. She held her glass the highest when it came time for the toast.  She was able to meet and hold Lennon. Lennon was able to tell her that he loved her and gave her kisses the last time he saw her.  That is what gratitude looks like.  I am so lucky to have had her around for so long. 

Thankful Thursday

When times are tough, I focus on the good stuff.  

The last seven days, one hour and twenty-two minutes I have found myself searching for (read begging for) reasons  be grateful. I know deep down inside that there are plenty - hundreds, if not thousands, of reasons for me to be grateful. I need to write them down in order to feel them. To read them later when I need to calm my heart.  I guess it's my form of meditating or healing. We carry on.   

My husband - Let me tell you this: that Dann Allan is quite fantastic.  He has been by my side constantly. To let me cry  my eyes out, to talk about my nana, to let me drink chocolate milk in the bathtub at two in the morning.  He has made the last week as easy as he could for me.  Having someone as wonderful as Dann is as my husband is something I will always be grateful for and undeserving of.  Last week after pretty much being awake for 36 hours that handsome beau of mine rubbed my feet without me asking and tucked me in when I fell asleep on the couch. When your mind refuses to let you sleep and your body is so run down from exhaustion and grief that is a wonderful gift. 

My Lennon -  He's my happy place. He does not care that I am grieving or that I cannot sleep at night. He wants to do puzzles at eight in the morning or have a dinosaur fight around noon - when I am finally so exhausted that I conk out. He makes me laugh without even trying.  He gives me constant cuddles and kisses. He is an absolute joy for me to be around.  It appears that he has also forgiven me for chopping off all of his hair before my Nana's viewing Thursday. Unconditional love is rare. It turns out that he loves me just as I love him. 

My friends - to all of you who have texted or called or messaged me on facebook, thank you. I know I have ignored you but I have read your love and I really do appreciate it. I use my phone as a tool to escape. When I am on it, I simply do not have the strength to start a conversation of how much I  hurt. I am sorry for that. To those I have had half-assed convos with, I am sorry too.  I'll get better. I just ache. To those of you who made it to the services. I thank you. By the time I saw most of you, I was numb.   Trust me, you'd rather it that way. Your presence was felt and it was powerful. My nana loved you and I hope you know how great that is. 

My Aunt Rosie - everyone in my mom's family has spread out across the US. My aunt and my mom are the only ones here. I can cry in front of her, confide in her, and laugh with her.  Those three things are always important but over the last week, they were necessities.  

My Mom - oh. What a pillar of strength and love. Sometimes little kids are brats. Sometimes adult kids are brats. When those adult brats lose their grandmother, the brattiness gets turned up to hide the pain and fear so the grieving mother, who lost her mother, must play mediator, friend, and counselor. My mother has been my voice when I was not strong enough to speak, my courage when I was afraid to speak, my light when the sadness was just too dark. As always, she is putting our needs in front of her own and I am grateful. 

My Nana - I have accepted the fact that I will never be able to weave together the words that are deserving enough, strong enough, great enough to describe how incredibly thankful I am for being given such an amazing woman as my grandmother. (Seriously, I wrote at least five eulogies and they were all "terrible.") There is so much nana in all of us that she will live on in our children and probably our grandchildren. That does not lessen the blow of losing her. I woke up on NANA'S FUNERAL morning, peaceful, ready to take on the world and face the day with a smile. Now, it's coming to the three o'clock hour of the next morning and I am heartbroken and lost again. The pain is harsh and unnerving. The fact that my family laid my nana to rest today is so unbelievably feckin' surreal that I think I must be dreaming - I have to be dreaming. But I know I'm not because every dream I've ever had about nana dying, it would end with her telling me to wake up and that it was all a dream. I know that to grieve deeply means one must have loved deeply. So by this unbearable loss, I know I am blessed.  I know I am grateful for having my nana for so long. And I know that once the grief stops clouding my soul that I will dream again and she will be there. I will hear her voice and see her smile. For that, I am grateful. Her absence is so overwhelming that it's almost suffocating. But I know I am lucky to have had her and I am grateful that I am her granddaughter.  I will try to live the next days, weeks, months, even years if I have to, by the message in her goodbye song:  if that's all there is, my friends, then let's keep dancing. ❤️🌹💔

Nana

There are many words I can use to describe how I have been feeling over the last few days - pain, fear, loneliness, anger, and sadness are just a few ways I am feeling, and I am sure some of you feel the same way. But, when I am at the lowest point, when I can feel the ache in my chest growing stronger and stronger, I focus on last Thursday and I am overwhelmed with gratitude. I will forever remember the peace that was in the room as nana held my hand. In her last days she would pull herself up to hug someone or because she wanted to be held. A few times, it was hard to tell what she wanted and I would put my forehead against hers and look into her eyes and she would do the same but with such intensity that it would take my breath away. I'd say to her softly, "I love you, too, Nana," and she would lay back down. Never letting go of my hand, I thought because she wanted to hold it, but now I know it was because she knew I would need those moments long after she left this earth. 

  

There was a moment that I coughed, and I must have startled her because she tried to sit up so I helped her.  I was very nervous because there was no one in the room and I was terrified I wouldn't be able to hold her up. She looked at me.  I said, "Hi. It's Autumn. You're okay," and Nana relaxed a bit. I looked her in the eyes and I told her that she could rest.  That she loved us hard, fiercely, and deeply. That she could relax now, she deserved it. Nana leaned forward and I held her, or she held me.  I talked with her about Lennon and about how sassy he is, about the new baby that was arriving any minute. I told her she could go find her mom and her beloved Billy if she wanted to. I thanked her for being so wonderful to all of us. She laid back down.  

I examined her hand holding mine, trying to memorize every part. I just couldn't get gratitude out of my head. How lucky I am to have this woman love me for so long. How lucky I am to be able to say goodbye and tell her I love her a million times before she found peace.  How lucky I am to have had my grandmother here with me for 31 years, to fight for me, to believe in me, to make me laugh, and to love me. How lucky I am to love this much. To feel such a heartache  It is a love that I feel undeserving of, that I am humbled by, that I will never know again.  I ache. 

I have never known a pain like this before, even when I thought I did. When pain was so unbearable I thought I'd be sick. But this is a whole new, unfamiliar pain. Waves of numbness and emptiness, followed by absolute heartbreak that feels like it may drive right through my chest. 

I try to find peace in the fact that she is now free, wherever she is. I just had a whiff of her lotion come through my room, as I am writing this through tears (probably telling me it will be all right) so maybe she is here.  I am thankful for her peace because she was not in the body she wanted to be in and she was not in the mind she wanted to be in.  She was a prisoner in her own body, and I know that feeling. That is a horrible feeling. Like a ballerina trapped in chains, she wanted out. 

I tried to prepare myself for this in the last year. I hoped that her battle would end and she would be at peace and be free. But then I got the phone call that it was almost over and I never needed to stop time so badly.  The ache in my soul when I think I won't see her smile or have her ask if Lennon is my baby is surreal. I honestly never imagined I could ache so much. I feel little, vulnerable, and, I think, broken. 

I was a preferred customer at Nana's bar. I'd sit with her and play Wheel of Fortune, she would usually beat me because she was a ridiculously good speller and quick thinker, at least to me. Thursday night we were able to watch the Wheel one last time. I don't know if I will ever be able to watch it again, but I am thankful we had that moment. 

  At one point I thought that Nana might want to pray. I didn't know her as a very religious person, but she had a whole life on this earth before I came around. I asked my mom if she thought nana wanted to pray. My mother said that Nana got upset when the priest was in praying (her last rites.) I was holding nana at this time and I just thought that maybe she was upset because she didn't get to see any of her family by that time. So I prayed with her. I prayed the best way that a good juju, positive vibes, give to the universe and it will give to you, peace lovin', hippie of a granddaughter could... I repeated Our Father twice and felt her relax again.  Gratitude.

My nana gave me advice over the years. One that I am sure I have mentioned before is her famous, "someone always has it worse than you, A2." I am trying to keep that in my head these last few days. Someone does have it worse. Someone doesn't have a family. Someone didn't know any of their grandparents.  Someone wasn't able to say goodbye to a loved one. I know all of this. It still hurts.  

Looking back I am not sure that Nana dealt with sadness much differently than me. When our dog, Penney,  died, she told me that she didn't want to talk about it.  Eventually she did, when she was ready. As I am sure many of my dear friends have realized by now, that is how I am. I need to be silent. To be still and embrace the pain.  To process it and live it. I will come around. I will return to my Jedi text master  status, eventually. Right now though, I don't want to talk. I want to replay memories over and over so I don't forget the sound of her voice or the depth of her eyes. But I do appreciate your messages and the food you have all been sending. You are good people and Nana loved you. Gratitude. 

May angels lead you in, my Nana.