in retrospect
I think this is true of everyone, but I have such a complicated family history.
In March, it will have been five years since my grandfather died. My parents had me when they were very young, my mother was 20 and my father was 21. I am going to be 29 very soon and the thought of having an 8 or 9 year old child seems like insanity (needless to say, I am childless). Three cats are weighing on me heavily - a child?!? No way.
Even though they seemed so old to me at the time, I recognize that when my parents were supposed to be shaping me, they were still at a stage where they were trying to shape themselves. Thus, when I was seven, and my parents divorced, things got bumpy for them and my grandparents stepped in. I remember, as a child, that my grandparents' house was home. It was comfortable and it made me comfortable. I loved being there. So far, in all of my subsequent homes and apartments, I've never felt like that again. So when one half of my safe-haven died, so did a part of me that felt at ease in the world.
Shortly after, the other half deteriorated. My grandmother was the youngest of all of her cohorts. My grandfather was the only one left and when he died, so did my grandmother - spirtually and pschologically. Two years later, almost to the day, she died physically too. My grandfather died suddenly in his sleep and his was the shocking kind of death that you half expect when people are old, but not really. He worked at the grocery store that day. Hers was less jarring. She died within a period of 4 horrific months so hers was the kind of death that one eventually feels is a relief.
As a child, they were my life. They were the reason I have even a semblance of emotional stability. They are the reason I establish boundaries. I used to think that all of my childhood friends were so lucky to be able to go out without curfews, not go to school whenever they wanted, drive in cars with strangers and the many other things I wouldn't let my cats do, let alone my child. Now I realize that the boundaries were set out of love and I know they have had positive consequences. Many of these friends are still living with their parents and aren't able to make sustainable life decisions; they've never had the boundaries that make it possible.
This is aside from the fierceness with which my grandparents loved me. My grandfather's name was Rocky and damn if he wasn't my rock. For instance, I've always been cursed with bad sinuses. When I get a headcold, I am miserable... up all night, dizzy, terrible. On those occasions, when I was a child, my grandfather would get up with me and sit on the end of the couch (my grandmother's end, not his) and I would lay on the other end of the couch and we would talk, he'd make me tea, and we'd watch the reruns of the old sitcoms that my grandmother obsessively taped (I Love Lucy, The Dick Van Dyke Show, Leave it to Beaver). He'd nurse me until I dozed. When I would wake up an hour later, there he was. In my self-centered little world, it never occurred to me that he'd be tanked the next day at work. That's unshakable love.
The one thing that he wasn't good at was discipline. That responsibility fell upon my grandmother. I know now that my grandmother would have liked to have been "the good guy" in the rearing process. However, because my grandfather was so lenient, she was the one who had to enforce the rules. If I were to make a request to my grandfather that he knew was impossible, he'd simply say, "go ask your grandmother." Duh, I would have asked her in the first place had I thought she'd say yes. This was his way of not being the tough one. I know, though, that my grandmother would have died for me. I know it. I am sure that she fought for my well-being many times with my parents. I have a feeling she is the reason I got to live with them even though my parents were around. They were just unstable and too young at the time. I know this now.
When I was younger, I used to bargain with god to keep my grandfather alive. I didn't do this with my grandmother. I suspect it was because she was a full decade younger than my grandfather and lived with such tenacity that somewhere in my mind I thought she'd live forever. I just always knew he'd die first and that would be the end of my family. That's exactly what happened. The grief I felt was unparallelled. Strangely, I'd never dealt with the death of someone close to me so I felt that I should be inconsolable. I wasn't. I hardly cried. I just felt as though I'd been beaten in the chest. I realize now that that's grief. But I thought grief was supposed to look different so I had grief coupled with guilt.
Further, my grandfather was withdrawn in the last few years of his life. Frankly, I had withdrawn too. I was in graduate school and busy chasing boys. He and I didn't talk as much as we did when I was younger. In fact, my grandmother and I were talking more and more (rather than fighting). When he died, the hole wasn't has big as I had imagined it would be and I felt guilty about that too. Did I mention I was raised Catholic?
My grandmother, Grace, was devastated when Rocky died and she never, ever got over it. I suspect if her sister Rose was still alive, she'd have had a sure-fire companion and a will to live. This wasn't the case and she was inconsolable. It's difficult to watch someone you love succumb to misery. There was just nothing we could do to pull her out of her hole. The only people in her life were my mother, Maria, my uncle, Joe, and me. We are young and have lives of our own. How are we expected to be what she needed us to be? She withered, she gave up and two years later, she died.
However, I had a sense that I was grieving for her five years ago when I was grieving for my grandfather. I knew she wouldn't make it through the loss intact. I wasn't sure if it would be her mind or her body that gave out first. Turns out, both deteriorated simultaneously.
Seems to me that the way I expected myself to grieve has never materialized in real life. I live out the sobbing in my dreams instead. The dream is always more or less the same. I'm usually at my grandparents house or somewhere familiar. But my grandfather is always about to die or he is sick in the way he was sick before he died.. the you-never-know-when-he-could-die-of-congestive-heart-failure sick. You never know. But, in the dream I know his time is limited, I know he's gonna die. I know it. My grandmother and I both know it and we are scrambling to save him. How do we save him? We are sobbing together with the mutual understanding that when he dies, the family dies. When I wake up from these dreams, I am grieving for them unexpectedly. With Rocky and Grace, one could not exist without the other. And they didn't.
I suppose I think about these things more around the holidays. My grandmother and hit her head on a sidewalk on December 1st, 2001. We did not expect her to live through the night. "Miraculously" she lived an agonizing four months. She was delerious. Her hand was gangrenous and it was amputated. Her toes began to turn black and shrivel. She had brain surgery and had only half her hair. This December marked the last holiday that we had with her.
Further, her birthday was December 22nd and my grandfather's was Christmas. We had fabulous celebrations on the holidays. We were a capitalist-dream-scenario -- overspending is an understatement. But we loved to watch each other open presents and explain the thought, the sentiment, and the love behind our decisions. We actually didn't care as much about opening our own presents as watching the other person open theirs. It was always Rocky, Grace, Joe, Maria and Heather. We'd maybe invite whatever significant other was in our lives at the time, but the understanding was that this was about the five of us. Then one died, the one who's birthday marked the occasion, and festivity the joy died with it. In its place is a gap, a hole. I guess now that the holidays are approaching, I am aware that they used to be the ones that made the holidays the holidays and they are on my mind. That's why I had one of my grief dreams last night.
This is the very first holiday season that I will spend completely abseny of any family member. I just moved to San Francisco. I haven't even really secured a job yet. I can't very well go home for the holidays. Anyway, the holidays are empty now. But that doesn't stop me from remembering that it is really about family. Hopefully, I will establish a family here with whom I can spend the holidays.
In March, it will have been five years since my grandfather died. My parents had me when they were very young, my mother was 20 and my father was 21. I am going to be 29 very soon and the thought of having an 8 or 9 year old child seems like insanity (needless to say, I am childless). Three cats are weighing on me heavily - a child?!? No way.
Even though they seemed so old to me at the time, I recognize that when my parents were supposed to be shaping me, they were still at a stage where they were trying to shape themselves. Thus, when I was seven, and my parents divorced, things got bumpy for them and my grandparents stepped in. I remember, as a child, that my grandparents' house was home. It was comfortable and it made me comfortable. I loved being there. So far, in all of my subsequent homes and apartments, I've never felt like that again. So when one half of my safe-haven died, so did a part of me that felt at ease in the world.
Shortly after, the other half deteriorated. My grandmother was the youngest of all of her cohorts. My grandfather was the only one left and when he died, so did my grandmother - spirtually and pschologically. Two years later, almost to the day, she died physically too. My grandfather died suddenly in his sleep and his was the shocking kind of death that you half expect when people are old, but not really. He worked at the grocery store that day. Hers was less jarring. She died within a period of 4 horrific months so hers was the kind of death that one eventually feels is a relief.
As a child, they were my life. They were the reason I have even a semblance of emotional stability. They are the reason I establish boundaries. I used to think that all of my childhood friends were so lucky to be able to go out without curfews, not go to school whenever they wanted, drive in cars with strangers and the many other things I wouldn't let my cats do, let alone my child. Now I realize that the boundaries were set out of love and I know they have had positive consequences. Many of these friends are still living with their parents and aren't able to make sustainable life decisions; they've never had the boundaries that make it possible.
This is aside from the fierceness with which my grandparents loved me. My grandfather's name was Rocky and damn if he wasn't my rock. For instance, I've always been cursed with bad sinuses. When I get a headcold, I am miserable... up all night, dizzy, terrible. On those occasions, when I was a child, my grandfather would get up with me and sit on the end of the couch (my grandmother's end, not his) and I would lay on the other end of the couch and we would talk, he'd make me tea, and we'd watch the reruns of the old sitcoms that my grandmother obsessively taped (I Love Lucy, The Dick Van Dyke Show, Leave it to Beaver). He'd nurse me until I dozed. When I would wake up an hour later, there he was. In my self-centered little world, it never occurred to me that he'd be tanked the next day at work. That's unshakable love.
The one thing that he wasn't good at was discipline. That responsibility fell upon my grandmother. I know now that my grandmother would have liked to have been "the good guy" in the rearing process. However, because my grandfather was so lenient, she was the one who had to enforce the rules. If I were to make a request to my grandfather that he knew was impossible, he'd simply say, "go ask your grandmother." Duh, I would have asked her in the first place had I thought she'd say yes. This was his way of not being the tough one. I know, though, that my grandmother would have died for me. I know it. I am sure that she fought for my well-being many times with my parents. I have a feeling she is the reason I got to live with them even though my parents were around. They were just unstable and too young at the time. I know this now.
When I was younger, I used to bargain with god to keep my grandfather alive. I didn't do this with my grandmother. I suspect it was because she was a full decade younger than my grandfather and lived with such tenacity that somewhere in my mind I thought she'd live forever. I just always knew he'd die first and that would be the end of my family. That's exactly what happened. The grief I felt was unparallelled. Strangely, I'd never dealt with the death of someone close to me so I felt that I should be inconsolable. I wasn't. I hardly cried. I just felt as though I'd been beaten in the chest. I realize now that that's grief. But I thought grief was supposed to look different so I had grief coupled with guilt.
Further, my grandfather was withdrawn in the last few years of his life. Frankly, I had withdrawn too. I was in graduate school and busy chasing boys. He and I didn't talk as much as we did when I was younger. In fact, my grandmother and I were talking more and more (rather than fighting). When he died, the hole wasn't has big as I had imagined it would be and I felt guilty about that too. Did I mention I was raised Catholic?
My grandmother, Grace, was devastated when Rocky died and she never, ever got over it. I suspect if her sister Rose was still alive, she'd have had a sure-fire companion and a will to live. This wasn't the case and she was inconsolable. It's difficult to watch someone you love succumb to misery. There was just nothing we could do to pull her out of her hole. The only people in her life were my mother, Maria, my uncle, Joe, and me. We are young and have lives of our own. How are we expected to be what she needed us to be? She withered, she gave up and two years later, she died.
However, I had a sense that I was grieving for her five years ago when I was grieving for my grandfather. I knew she wouldn't make it through the loss intact. I wasn't sure if it would be her mind or her body that gave out first. Turns out, both deteriorated simultaneously.
Seems to me that the way I expected myself to grieve has never materialized in real life. I live out the sobbing in my dreams instead. The dream is always more or less the same. I'm usually at my grandparents house or somewhere familiar. But my grandfather is always about to die or he is sick in the way he was sick before he died.. the you-never-know-when-he-could-die-of-congestive-heart-failure sick. You never know. But, in the dream I know his time is limited, I know he's gonna die. I know it. My grandmother and I both know it and we are scrambling to save him. How do we save him? We are sobbing together with the mutual understanding that when he dies, the family dies. When I wake up from these dreams, I am grieving for them unexpectedly. With Rocky and Grace, one could not exist without the other. And they didn't.
I suppose I think about these things more around the holidays. My grandmother and hit her head on a sidewalk on December 1st, 2001. We did not expect her to live through the night. "Miraculously" she lived an agonizing four months. She was delerious. Her hand was gangrenous and it was amputated. Her toes began to turn black and shrivel. She had brain surgery and had only half her hair. This December marked the last holiday that we had with her.
Further, her birthday was December 22nd and my grandfather's was Christmas. We had fabulous celebrations on the holidays. We were a capitalist-dream-scenario -- overspending is an understatement. But we loved to watch each other open presents and explain the thought, the sentiment, and the love behind our decisions. We actually didn't care as much about opening our own presents as watching the other person open theirs. It was always Rocky, Grace, Joe, Maria and Heather. We'd maybe invite whatever significant other was in our lives at the time, but the understanding was that this was about the five of us. Then one died, the one who's birthday marked the occasion, and festivity the joy died with it. In its place is a gap, a hole. I guess now that the holidays are approaching, I am aware that they used to be the ones that made the holidays the holidays and they are on my mind. That's why I had one of my grief dreams last night.
This is the very first holiday season that I will spend completely abseny of any family member. I just moved to San Francisco. I haven't even really secured a job yet. I can't very well go home for the holidays. Anyway, the holidays are empty now. But that doesn't stop me from remembering that it is really about family. Hopefully, I will establish a family here with whom I can spend the holidays.
posted by Heather at 1:08 PM
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