At the end of this month, you have been gone for seven years.
Almost half of each of your grandson's lives.
They have now lived without you almost as long as they had you in their lives. Their memories of you are thin and far away. When the oldest one sings with his vocal ensemble, I ache knowing how much you would have loved hearing his voice. "Danny Boy" simply unravels me, the tears that would have shone in your eyes fill mine. When the youngest dances with his trombone line in the jazz band, I know you would have been dancing along. I miss your love of music, the way it filled you; watching you listen and feel song was joyful and infectious.
I could use your advice now, that I mother teenagers ~ looking back I try to remember how you handled us. You seem unflappable in memory, though I know we tried you. You are my measure for motherhood, which may not be wise, but is hard to avoid. I have so many questions about this job that I would love to ask you. There was never a time when we did not feel loved. We were secure, solid, entirely confident that you were there for us, always, without question. Do my boys feel that fortress of certainty? God knows I try. And I miss you. Every damn day.
I can feel some gratitude that your expansive spirit and unlimited capacity for love are no longer frustrated and restricted by the failings of your earthly vessel, as it was hard for you near the end ~ to not be able to do and go in all the ways you wanted. But the weight of your absence is heavier. Selfish, perhaps, but for my children to not fully know the ferocious pride and unwavering support of their grandmother's spirit cannot help but make my heart heavy. Every concert, every graduation, any celebrations that may come will all have a hole where you should be - with your enormous heart brimming with joy for them. They will never really truly know you now. I will try to be as much like you in all the good ways I can, since I had the unshakeable love of a powerful mother's heart to guide me... but I miss you, Mom.
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After a cathartic cry, I am looking for a different perspective for these feelings.
In so many ways, you are still here.
You are part of the way I feel music.
I see you in the sense of humor of your youngest grandson.
Your smile is in the face of my oldest son, he favors us.
Your July 4 birthday spirit is part of our family's patriotism, and we celebrate you still.
Your heart is still part of our family Christmas. You were the one who made it magic.
Even though you are no longer here to see and to hold, there are a thousand things around me that are part of who you were, that mean you are still part of our lives. Sometimes these reminders bring tears ~ but they are your memory, your legacy, and those parts of you that are alive in all of us who loved you.
