reminders of my angel grandparents

Sweet sorrow that lingers after loss.

There's a sweet and gentle sorrow that comes with living beyond those you love. Do you feel it?

For me, it isn't painful. Maybe it was at first, but not now. Still, the sweet sorrow lingers.

I've learned to embrace it.

I choose to breathe through it.

To smile despite it.

I use it to remember them.

Grieving; every part.

Grief comes in waves, with every memory. This is because every part of me has lost her - the 3 year old, the 7 year old, the 13, 19, and 26 year old and every part in between, must grieve what they've lost in their own time.

The 3 year old grieves for the safety and warmth of her arms - the hands that brushed away tears and held me tight when hurt overwhelmed my body.

The 7 year old grieves for the grandma who invoked feminine confidence in me, - complementing my skill and bravery after performing nurturing acts for others - picking fruit for dinner, helping a sad cousin.

The 13 year old grieves for the grandma who sat, eyes and attention fixed upon me, as I spoke volumes about my selfish little life and friends and drama.

The 19 year old grieves for the grandma who knew how to fix a salty dish, or how to scrub out a stain on a favorite shirt.

The 26 year old grieves for the hands that cupped my chubby cheeks, seeing past the weight gained to the girl she adored, and telling me how bright and beautiful I was.

The 29 year old me grieves for the grandma who will never read my book, or see what I've made of my home.

Honor the past, honor her!

"Our dead are never dead to us, until we have forgotten them" — George Eliot 

The greatest honor I can give my grandma is to

1. remember her, think on her life

2. recall her wisdoms & teachings

3. use the gifts she blessed me with

When I go into my garden to pluck up carrots and remember grandma's patience in teaching me to grow and preserve food (lessons that I've had to re-learn without her. but I keep her in my heart as I do so).

When look out the kitchen window and see the thousands of blackberries beginning to form and wish she were here to collect them with me.

When I put on her apron and wonder how often she wore it, and what she would be making. When I forget to add sugar to a cupcake recipe after pouring them into the paper cups to bake... she'd know what to do!

The sorrow hits, and so does the sweet memories and love. And I feel that it is better to remember and to feel those things, rather than ignore and shove away the memories.

Soothe parts of your grief that therapy can't reach.

An excerpt from In My Grandma Era,

When they’re gone, we find ways to keep them close. We enter into our memories of them. Drawing from their lives, tapping into their legacy. 

We though, Perhaps reading Grandma’s favorite novel, Hummingbird by Spencer LaVyrle; or making Grandpa’s favorite dessert, strawberry shortcake with hand whipped cream (also conveniently my favorite), will keep them close to us. 

It certainly works. 

For example, I find myself bringing out the few crystal goblets I inherited from Grandma more often than strictly necessary. The other day, I’d picked up sparking lemonade from Trader Joes and thought to myself, I need to be drinking this from grandma’s crystal glass. I bounded to the china hutch and dusted off one of her tiny glasses, for it had been unused long enough to collect some dust. I filled it to the brim…The swallowed it down my drink in 3 gulps. That’s all the glass would hold. But it tasted better that way, and reminded me of her kindness and love for beautiful things. Cheers, grandma!

Another time, my father in law (papa) was helping me build a garden bed. Correction: Helping me attempt to build a wooden garden bed. I finished screwing in one of the connecting board, and stood back to take a look. “It’s scattywampus”, I observed with a furrowed brow. Papa didn’t say anything, so I glanced at his face. He was trying not to laugh. I retraced my words in my head and realized I sounded a lot like my old man’s old man… “It’s crooked” I corrected, smiling. But he was already laughing. I blame grandpa for that moment - or maybe I should be thanking him. Either way, that’s my favorite word to use anytime something is slightly off center, now. Sometimes, I do it on purpose. wink

You agree that it is these small practices that soothe parts of our grief that crying and therapy can’t reach? It brings a sense of magical nostalgia to our mundane and material lives. And allows us to slow our thoughts to a trotting pace in order to look back, to see and remember them again.

Ritual to keep her close.

"The song is ended but the melody lingers on" — Irving Berlin 

Rituals help, I think. Us, more than them. But they keep the melody of their lives in tune.

Adopt their rituals for yourself:

I love is to do this: on a day that means the most to them, or you - this could be a birthday, or something - do something THEY would love.

On grandma's birthday every year, Grandma's best friends go to one of her favorite restaurants and order her favorite meal. One year, they invited me and we shared memories of grandma over chicken salad and donuts.

Do it her way, not yours:

Is there something grandma always said, or did, that stuck out to you? Find a way to incorporate that into your routine.

What do you miss most about Grandma or Grandpa?

What do you miss most about your grandparents?

What do you do to remember them?

It gets easier, to remember them with love and joy. And that is such a blessing.

xo, Brooklyn