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.