Control is rendered null and void when you see your 95 year old grandmother’s perfect pink and white casket get lifted up and pushed deeply into a cement crypt. When the mortician begins to seal the crypt, it doesn’t matter that your heart is yelping in great ache, “No!! Don’t let her go there! This can’t be IT!”
You don’t get to yank the time back. It doesn’t matter – at all – what you want: for her to sit comfortably on her gold sofa (where she receives guests) and recite more poems to you and your daughter; to watch her, at 93, nervously match a rose blouse with gold flats because a much younger man is coming to visit; to be eight again in the back of grandpa’s Ford pick-up, receiving butterfly and Eskimo kisses. It doesn’t matter you want that. You won’t get it.
When you walk through her house, you’ll notice all the things that got left behind … her open Ritz crackers on kitchen counter, the ball of yarn that had fallen next to her chair, the fan of photographs on the side table – photos she must’ve just been looking at, her mauve shawl left on the chair where she had been sitting before needing to be rushed to the hospital. Evidence of life left in a still frame.
Though our grandfather died nine years ago in that house, the house our grandmother cared for him all through his Parkinson’s, it’s like he was resurrected. Grandma didn’t – for whatever reason – allow us to trifle through his belongings after he died, to say good-bye to his physical possessions. His office had been barely touched in all these years. His wallet and black, plastic comb – always in his front pocket – are now mine. A “book” I wrote and “illustrated” in second grade sat on his desk – my wedding invitation and another picture I drew as a child tucked within. I’m almost 40.
My brothers and I were saying goodbye to both our grandparents this week. My dad was reconciling the death of his parents. Great-grandchildren had the chance to go through the home and make little discoveries that reminded them of great-grandma. My daughter snapped up my grandmother’s crazy wig, her bedazzled cane (complete with dangling beads, flowers, and lace), and a pair of her pink reading glasses. On the long drive home after putting grandma to rest, my child fell asleep in her booster seat wearing those glasses.
Each of us had an opportunity to walk through the home, pick up pieces of our memories and place them in boxes or wrap furniture carefully in blankets. We don’t want to damage them and it’s stunning – truly stunning – how in an instant, a book or a stamp or an old stuffed frog can transport you to childhood and warm love.
I don’t want to let go of my memories and the memories of my grandparents. I took boxes of their photographs and letters they had kept. If I keep their memories, their stories … read them, write them – they live. I can control that … I hope. (I think.) Right?
This need to grasp at any semblance of control is strong. Grandma’s death has come at a time where I have little control in my life. A time where many losses in a short period of time have crumbled through my fingers. Marriage. Moving. Countries. Cities. Friendships.
Death makes you see things differently. Mortality will hit each of us square across the face. You think you have a lot of time – but you really don’t know how much you will have.
So how do you want to spend it? What is it that you want … really want? Are you brave enough to go get it? What are you willing to risk? Who are the people in your life that stand by you, who show up for you? What does that mean to you? What and who do you stand up and show up for? Who do you want to be?
See, nothing’s permanent and the only thing we really have control over is how we choose to live our lives. The truth is, life strips us down and leaves us there quite raw and naked.
 Yet … as I write this, wearing my grandfather’s wool cardigan and my grandmother’s ring, I feel them around my shoulders and think – even if it’s my imagination – that I’m safe, that things will work out, that I’m loved … that my grandparents loved me.
 So, in my efforts to hold onto some form of control in my life, I will do my best to honor them, to be the kind of woman they knew I was. To stand in my own truth and be who I really am. I owe them that. It’s their legacy to me. To my daughter. To my nieces and my nephews. And I will not let go of their stories.
Becky, thank you for this beautiful sharing of your memories. I'm so sorry to hear that you loss your Grandma. May you have their spirits in your heart, always! xo
Beautifully written and so insightful, Becky. Death and loss are such prompts for reflection and reminders to grasp what we have and cherish it. Big hugs and lots of love to you. thinking of you xxxxx
PS – Something I wrote recently on grief and how those reminders are from within us as much as being physical reminders…http://feistybluegeckofightsback.wordpress.com/2013/06/15/within-without/
This was wonderful, Becky and I know those feeling so well. I felt as though I were with you as you walked through the house. I know, I struggle with that "is this it" part… what's left are possessions but sometimes we find comfort in those connections. God Bless you but also know how lucky you were to have them, to know them. I am sure they are smiling knowing you are the keeper of their memories. June
They are so proud of you Becky. This I'm sure of. So am I. Proud to know you and call you friend. Love you to the moon and back.
Molly
Nice. 🙂
Your Brother.
thank you for sharing and that was extremely well written becky love you dad
PS…. That writing was close to the bone!! I really appreciate it but the writing and the emotions and feelings you shared… proud of you Becky…
Dad
So true and so well-stated, Becky. I am so sorry to hear of your grandmother's passing. What a year this has been for you. Hoping you and your precious girl are healing and finding ways to rest and celebrate life in this season of transition. I think of you both often. xo, janice
Thank you so much for your kind words, Suzanne. <3
Deeply appreciated. 🙂
Thank you, Philippa. (I know I owe you some emails! Thanks so much for reaching out to me, sweet friend!)
Love + miss you!
Thank you, June. <3 You're so kind. Thank you for your thoughtful words of comfort.
Lots of love to you.
I love you Molly. <3 Thank you for being my dear, sweet friend.
Thanks, my brother. 🙂
Thank you, dad. Love you, too.
Thank you, Janice. I know you've had a big loss this year, too. Thank you for taking the time to read this post. 🙂
Thank you – and I think of you often, too. (In fact, each time I see a bird.)
Much love, Janice. <3
This post brought back so many memories of when I lost my grandparents, and my parents. I am the keeper of many treasures and I will keep them as long as they comfort me and I hope my kids will want them too. Thanks for your ability to communicate sameness of experience. We all feel less alone for it…Sorry for your loss…
Thank you for your kind words. I hope that your kids will want the items you saved, too. It's part of their history – they tell a story. 🙂
Thank you again. <3