My mother’s death is still so recent – maybe that’s why it’s easier to talk about Zed’s grief instead of my own. He had one small previous experience with death (unless you count rural Grass Valley road kill). Our dog of many years, Ziggy, died when he was two. Fueled by pictures and our stories, he will sometimes use these memories to access a place of grief within him. In bed, after lights out, he calls out to us with questions about her life. Sometime he asks about death and we discuss our fears and hopes. He often comes to tears, sometimes reaching the point of wailing.
During these times, I have imagined that he is practicing for a bigger event.
Zed was close to Grandma Jane. We had many visits with her in Oregon and when my mother could no longer travel, we Skyped often. She read Zed stories over Skype, watched his drawings and Lego creations evolve, and applauded his piano songs – all the while marveling at technology. When we went to visit my father a few days after she died, Zed took the finality of this experience to heart. He saw for himself that she was no longer in the house where she had always been. He walked through the rooms saying, “I can’t believe she is never going to be here again.” He spoke my thoughts for me. “I already miss her so much.”
When he went to bed that night, it was only a matter of minutes before he started crying. Words of sorrow mixed with sobs that caused his body to heave. I lay with him on the bed and we cried together. He was crying in that way where it’s difficult to stop once that stage is reached.
After about 20 minutes my father came in. He got down on his knees and put a hand on Zed. In a soothing tone, he spoke to Zed about how much Grandma Jane loved him. He also told Zed that Grandma Jane would understand why he was crying but that she would also want him to get his rest. He suggested that it was time to let the crying stop for the night and if we needed to, there could be more tears tomorrow.
The combination of understanding and a very clear suggestion had an immediate calming effect. Zed blew his nose and within a few minutes, he was asleep.
We spent the weekend going through her things and telling stories. Zed saw the three adults – myself, Barry, and my Dad – openly cry and laugh and celebrate. My father would talk about his sadness and also let us in on how it progressed, eventually to where he could see an object of hers, feel the sadness, and then let joy and fond memories mingle and prevail.
Like most parents I know, I want the hurts that Zed suffers to be what he can handle. I want to give him tools with which to experience life’s pain and also ways to move forward with life, just as Grandma Jane would have wanted. The Keelings are do-ers. Especially in times of heightened emotion. We move the feelings with action. It makes sense that Zed built a Lego bank while we were in Oregon and my father began packing up for his move to California to be closer to family.
I launched my parenting blog, which seems fitting. My mother’s greatest passion was family. She parented with a quiet consistency, her gentle voice full of wisdom. She lived the essence of respect in all she did. My mother would have loved this blog. I’ll miss discussing parenting ideas with her. I’ll miss the pride in her voice. Parenting Groove is a way to honor her insights – a testament to the foundation of gifts she gave me.
Grieving takes on many forms, its will emerging at unexpected moments. It’s hard to see my child grieve, just as it is hard to feel my own grief. The magnitude of it is tempered by memories and gratefulness. In his grandmother, Zed witnessed an incredible woman with a huge capacity to love. May Zed be able to embrace the weight of grief, and when he is ready, let the joy flood in.
What a lovely telling of this poignant experience. Zed is surrounded by wisdom and sees that it is alright to display his emotions. Well done.
Oh wow … thank you SO much for taking the time to share this. SOOO important. I read it with Aidan, who said “I’ve already lost 2 people in my life” (my sister and father). He will lose more. And it can be so confusing holding their grief and our own at the same time. AND it can be so healing too – a reminder that, just as your Dad said, there are windows to grieve, and windows to go to bed! The grief doesn’t stop – it is here tomorrow. So is the joy!!
I am SOOO touched and SOOOO thinking of you. I can only imagine how much you must miss her right now. What an incredible honor to HER and your Dad for you to create this site!! Much love — K
That was a difficult visit. Heading up there knowing that we wouldn’t see that smiling face of Jane’s. Lots of tears, laughs, memories. Not all that different a takeaway from every other visit we’ve had. Thanks for sharing your story.
This was so beautifully written, Annie. Your words really captured the grief your family is experiencing. Thank you for sharing. I know it is going to help so many people. What a beautiful tribute to your mother. Take care.
Lovely sharing.. thank you.
Wow! I always thought you had a wonderful way of expressing yourself and your writing is such a powerful focus of that expression. Losing a loved one……especially when one is young,is so hard…..a beloved parent/grandparent is such an epic loss. It seems that you and your family are negotiating those sad waters beautifully, together. Thanks for sharing.
Annie…. I was brought to tears thinking about Zed’s grief and your eve-present – if not shared grief. I recall so deeply the same experience when we lost my mom 7 years ago (which seems like only yesterday). Often I find myself giving in to one of Adrienne’s wishes, responding with “it’s a Nana moment” — I find that helps both of us keep Mom with us in ways she would smile about.
I love that… “its a Nana moment”… love this…
Wow Annie…beautifully expressed! Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts, and sharing your heart!
What a way to honor her, and then share the impact that your mom–Zed’s grandma Jane–had on her family.
Reading it reminded me that Zed is still so very young. Because I see photos of him doing amazing things, like triathlons and juggling and unicycling, I forget that he’s still so very innocent. A baby. Your baby. The way you forever remained Grandma Jane’s baby.
Blessings to you all.
Thank you for sharing, Annie. A wonderful tribute to a wonderful woman.
Really beautiful, Annie. Thank you for sharing this. Love to you.
Annie,
A beautiful tribute to your Mother! Grief is difficult for all, especially for children. I can remember when my Grandmother passed away (she had shared my bedroom with me-always there), and at that time there wasn’t a lot of thought given to realizing that children felt grief, just as adults did. How I coped and still use the same process today was/is; REMEMBER ALL THE JOYS, WONDERS, SMILES AND EXPERIENCES YOU HAD WITH THE PERSON who has physically stepped out of sight. Enjoy the laughter and laugh out loud and smile! The wonders of the spirit will remain forever.
Ah, your lovely words. So much love to you, some of our most favorite people. Sure wish I had met the amazing Miss Jane…
What a lovely, heartfelt account of grieve , love and solace. Beautiful !!