And just like that, the honeymoon is over.
I had to explain to my grandmother that her husband is dead. He died over ten years ago, and today she asked when he was getting home from work. I sat her down, told her he was in heaven, and she was crushed. She seemed to understand though, and after sorting out who I was, where her sons were, and what she had on her meatloaf at lunch, she was able to carry on with her afternoon.
I, on the other hand, have not been able to shake the feeling of utter sadness. Not only did I have to re-experience the grief I have felt over his death, I am finally beginning to understand what my life is going to be. I know I’m going to have to do this again. I’m going to have to tell my grandmother that her husband of more than 50 years has long since passed, and she’s going to have to grieve again and again. It’s heartbreaking. And it’s exhausting. And I don’t want to do it. But I will, because I know it’s what I’m supposed to do, what I’m called to do, and what’s in my heart to do.
It’s sad knowing that my 2.5 year old that has never met the man, understands that Mommy’s Bapa is in heaven, but the woman who spent a lifetime with him can’t get a handle on his whereabouts.
Every time I think about my grandma these days, the chorus from a song, by I can’t remember who, pops into my head:
Mom’s a little girl again
Talking to herself
Laughing with her friend
Some folks say she’s at the end
But me, I think it’s preschool for heaven
So while my precious grandmother continues to deteriorate, loosing her sense of self, and loosing her sense of control, I will sit in my room, sneaking bites from the hollow chocolate easter bunny I have hidden in the bottom drawer of my desk, and pray. Right now, it’s all I know to do.