Grief is a strange thing.
For all intents and purposes I “lost” my grandmother 7 years ago. Well- At least, our relationship as I had depended on it for 26 years. Physically, of course, she was here. And while I was able to call her or visit, to give hugs, introduce her to my children and husband, and ramble away with details of our life pretending she was as delighted to hear them as I was to share— there was little in the way of reciprocation.
I have grieved my relationship with her repeatedly for 7 years. First over a plate of spaghetti made with her recipe that I never took a bite of. Again the first (and only) time I visited her home since she left it. The day I accepted she wouldn’t be at my wedding and the day I first visited her as an in-patient at Emory. Child births gone unacknowledged, birthdays forgotten… each one has carried a very sharp and specific sting. Because the Mimi I knew- the Mimi that held a significant role in raising me- that Mimi? She would have loved those events. Every. Single. One. She would have opened her arms for a hug and said, “Katie-Lady! I’m so happy for you!”
It’s funny how such a simple phrase leaves such a gigantic void in it’s absence.
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I have spent 11 days trying to decide how to put my thoughts into words. Truthfully- I’ve been shocked at the intensity of my grief since August 5. I felt that I would be better prepared for the “after”- having grieved so heavily before Mimi actually passed. Even in those final days when I knew her time on Earth was nearly gone I was (mostly) at peace. I plowed through the chaos of back-to-school and birthday parties, morning runs, CrossFit, meal prep, housekeeping and laundry. And I made plans to head south for a few days for Mimi’s funeral- like I would for any other trip to visit family.
I even survived sorting through and framing photographs for the visitation. Walking into my parents house and facing all my family was joyful rather than emotional. It was loud and rowdy. There was amazing food and laughter over the stories my cousin’s and I shared- much like there would have been on Christmas night at Mimi’s House. She would have loved it all. But in all of this- I never actually stepped into the finality or the pain of what was happening.
Then, the craziest, most beautiful story unfolded. It has laid my heart bare for the last 10 days. I have sobbed in the shower and randomly broken down in my daily chores or at work. But mostly- it has helped me reclaim some of the 7 years lost:
For the last 10 years, you can place your bets on the fact that there will be red/yellow mums on my porch in September. It doesn’t seem that abnormal since all of Georgia buys mums in September. But each year I buy mums and smile because I remember coming home from work to my very first little house and finding 2 mums on my porch and a note from my Mimi. It was a small memory- one of hundreds, thousands, we shared- but it was such a perfect picture of the type of person my grandmother was- she remembered me. On a random week day when she had so much more happening in her own life, she stopped to leave me flowers and a note.
10 days ago I opened the door of the mini-van I definitely didn’t own 10 years ago and saw a little white square of paper. I picked it up before it fell from the car And buckled my kids in their seats. As i settled back into my seat I noticed the little square in my hand and flipped it over to find a note, “So happy for you! Love, Mimi”. (I would have recognized that handwriting anywhere!)
The significance of this moment is so deep. that night as I climbed into my van I was heading for Mimi’s visitation. 10 years, 3 vehicles, 2 houses, a husband, and a bunch of kids later- yet that tiny card miraculously landed itself in the floorboard of my car when my heart was aching with the loss and pain that has accompanied the loss of my grandmother Little by Little over the last 7 years. When I’ve ached for the years lost- knowing she’s met my husband and children but not enjoyed them the way she expected to. The way I expected her too. When she missed my wedding or forgot that I was her granddaughter…
For years she was my safe place. We would sit in the recliners in her den, walk red dirt roads at dusk, or sit at the table with saltine s’mores or chips & salsa and hash out all the details of my life. No matter how significant or insignificant those details were there was one constant- Mimi was always “Team Kate”.
You know what I’ve missed the most for 7 years? That unwavering, unconditional support. KNOWING Mimi was in my corner:
When I was heartbroken she listened.
When I was excited she cheered.
When I was scared she gave very solid advice.
Mimi was happy with me and for me- all the time.
Since the day Craig & I got engaged I have longed to share it with Mimi. As joyful as my last 7 years have been there has also been a sliver of pain, an incompleteness, in every happy moment. And until I sat in my car on the way to Mimi’s visitation holding that tiny white card- “So happy for you. Love, Mimi”- I didn’t truly realize how deeply I have longed to share my life NOW with her. How desperately I wanted her to know I was happy, for her to be happy FOR me. And that night those words settled over my heart- a balm on all the chipped and broken places that have missed Mimi for 7 long years.
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I’m sure I could rationalize my Mimi-sized miracle away. Maybe the card was stuck to the back of a picture or inside a bag I carried. Maybe so. But what are the odds? (In the words of my brother: that’s hard to call coincidence.)
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