The subtle goodbyes along the way
It was a counter… worn with 50 years of living. So why am I sitting on the floor swimming in my tears?!
Grief comes in waves. Don’t let anyone try to convince you otherwise! It’s been almost 2 years (17-months to be exact). Yet here I am. A train wreck of emotion, balled up on the kitchen floor, crying over a countertop I honestly hated.
Man, life sure throws you curves. As I move through the phases of grief I am also remodeling my grandmother’s house. Neither of which should be taken lightly. Or done alone. And some weeks, each task is equally as challenging as the other.
I used to joke about the way my grandmother never wanted to change things in the house to make it look different than it did when my grandfather was alive. I get it now. There are moments I want nothing more than to walk into a house that smells like her. To see the comforting rooms I grew up among. That I laughed and loved in.
But the house is in desperate need of repair. Things have to change. Leaking windows, old cabinets, and that outdated counter with the built in blender all need to be replaced. I have added two new countertops to the kitchen layout already. I’ve been waiting for months to replace this original one. While my daughter loves that built-in blender (and I admit it was a huge perk in its day), in this small kitchen, it takes up much needed work space.
And today was the day! I was beyond excited! The anticipation of it all leading me down the aisles at the hardware store as I made final decisions on the new sink and faucet which would adorn THE counter. My counter. In a kitchen I re-designed for all my quirks and eccentric wants. No different than any other girl playing at building a home. Right?
Wrong! I have added and refinished counters. Put down new flooring. Shifted the layout. That darn blender was the last thing on the list. The last thing to be changed. The last thing to be removed… the last thing to be removed.
There it is.
Another moment of goodbye.
Another room that lost her essence.
Why are there so many of these subtle goodbyes? She’s not in that damn blender! I still feel her all around me. So why am I wiping away tears as I wipe dust off the new counter? Why does standing back to snap a picture lead me to be drawn to rest my head upon that spot where the blender should be? Only to be found moments later curled on the floor sobbing as if removing that blender had been her demise.
Why? Because grief is messy!
Grief is hard!
Grief happens in unexpected moments!
So I understand now why she resisted the updates to ‘their’ home. Yet, I’m choosing to learn from her yet again. I will not halt the remodeling to simply hold onto her. This house is not where she is. She is with me, with my kids, with my family. And as emotionally (and physically) exhausting as updating the house can be, I need it. The simple act of making subtle changes, one step at a time, allows me to keep moving forward. To keep moving through the emotions that I must, to fulfill my own right of passage.
I may not know when those moments of grief will come, sometimes I can anticipate them, and at others they catch me off guard (like the blender did). But in them I hang onto the few remaining refuges still held within this house. Some days that spot is at the bathroom sink, cracked, yet still polished every Saturday so that it shines. If I look up quick enough I can catch a glimpse of her behind me ready to brush my hair like she did so many mornings growing up. Or in the evening, after a long day, when I’m staying up too late, I’ll glance over to her spot and hear the soft whisper asking “You look tired, why don’t you go rest?”
Those are the goodbyes I’m not ready to say yet.
The reasons I keep Comet in the bathroom closet.
The reason I make sure the recliner never goes where she had hers.
And when it all becomes too overwhelming? I have one room left that still feels like her the most to me. Ironically it was the first room I redid. New paint, new decor (like really new!) It is my mystical meditation room. Yet recently I have migrated to sleeping there too. With the door shut I can pick any moment in time — be in any moment in time. I can hear in my mind the chatter of visits happening at her kitchen table while I tried to sleep during my college years (I slept during the day as I worked 3rd shift). Or focus on the laughter of my girls when they were toddlers coming up the hall. Or breathe in the musty smell of the crafting treasures she kept hidden within the closet of this room.
This room, this is my safe place. It holds no memories of those last months. No visions of the grandmother I didn’t recognize as the end drew near. Nothing other than the essence of the woman I loved, who loved me back with a fierceness all her own.
This too, in time, I know I will have to say goodbye to. But for right now I’m okay letting those moments come mixed in the subtle actions of my days. Retreating when I need to pause, pushing forward with her fierceness when I can.
Simply surviving.
Arise WILD!
Wild Serenity Healing
