I'm late again. I doubt most people are aware of it--it's only 6:39 AM on Saturday morning. I've watched the morning sky, fed the cats, and gotten the coffeepot in the house ready for when Duane gets up. I haven't written the blog yet, although I like to have it done on Friday. I want for it to be there, ready, like the purple and pink sky and my Keurig, when I come to the office on Saturday. That hasn't worked this week.
I'm in a weird kind of place, one I imagine most people my age can identify with. I'm a septuagenarian, thank you very much. I've earned a long word for being as old as I am. I'm happy and grateful for my life. I laugh a lot and I love my family with a depth that there aren't any words long enough to describe. I am blessed in so many ways.
And yet.
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Nancy, my sister, was big on get over it. It was how she got through things, how she survived, how she held onto happy and grateful. She was the eldest of us, however, and she was unprepared for two of our brothers to pass before her. How dared they to go out of order? We laughed when we said that, but she didn't "get over it." She mourned with a depth I didn't fully understand, even though they were my brothers, too.
She worried about my brother and me who are still here, because she already felt betrayed by the out-of-order thing. Despite the depth of her own grief, I don't think she'd understand that I'm having trouble accepting that she's not sitting at her kitchen table anymore. She'd roll her eyes and remind me that I have everything.
I do. And I'm grateful, happy, and blessed. But I don't have her. As wonderful as septuagenarianism is--and it truly is--it is pockmarked with those things I talked about. Loss and grief and anger all leave marks, don't they? They add substance to our lives, to who we are, but they hurt. Forever.
I don't know how to end this, because I am indeed still in this weird place. But maybe writing about it (and making you suffer along with me) has helped. It's reminded me of the pink and purple morning sky, that I had the best sister in the world for over 70 years, and to keep laughing because joy keeps those scars of grief and loss and anger from running together and taking you over.
I miss you every day, Nance. Love you.
That's it for now. Have a good week. Tell people you love them. Be nice to somebody.
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Grief is a hard place, particularly if dwelling is your go-to anyway, but you know, it's okay to grieve. Even to wallow if that is what you need and what you feel at this moment. Nancy hasn't been gone long enough for the pain to be a dull ache yet--it's still sharp, so acknowledging that, accepting it is how you'll move on. Don't force it. One day, maybe not in the next week or so, but one day, the sting will lessen, even though the loss is with you forever. I have holes in me that will never be filled since the loss of my sister, my mom, my friend Dee. But the comfort of warm memories make them a little less empty.
ReplyDeleteWhat I didn't expect--and should have--was how MUCH loss would accompany that long word.
DeleteThank you...I've been there and am again..love you my friend ♡♡♡
DeleteThank you. I know you are. Love to you, too.
DeleteI think we all sustain those weird moments in life where we can't seem to get our minds or our hearts to move forward, or we aren't even sure we want them to. My baby brother died 10 years ago, but I still think of him many times every day. He would have turned 56 this month. He was my only sibling - sometimes it causes me to feel so alone in the world. I think most of us can relate. I mourn the loss of my dad who died over 30 years ago in the month of April, when he also has a birthday. And so many close friends. Grief is a weird emotion, but it's OK to feel it, just as Nan said. Memories, photographs, and songs all can cause it to flood back. I've learned not to suppress it or push it away. And to keep the faith that I'll see them all again one day. Love ya Liz!
ReplyDeleteNot sure why it was on 'anonymous' it's Debby!
DeleteThanks, Deb. This has been very hard. Even though each day gets better, I'm kind appalled at my own weakness!
DeleteThere is no right or wrong way. Each grief and each griever is unique. Be gentle with yourself. And please keep writing. Every time we share our journey, we help someone else through theirs.
ReplyDeleteThank you so much. I think it's generational, maybe, that thought that we should always do better...be better. Another thing I should have gotten over long before now. :-)
DeleteSo sorry for your loss. I can't imagine the pain of losing any of my six sisters. Like your Nance I am the oldest. We have three brothers too.
ReplyDeleteIt's a very, very hard thing. What sibling riches you have!
DeleteSounds like you were blessed with a very special relationship with your sister. Not everyone is so lucky. Makes me think of The Little Prince telling the aviator to look up at the stars and know he was there laughing and he would hear his laughter... Thank You for sharing. Hugs
ReplyDeleteIt was special, and occasionally cantankerous! But definitely a blessing.
DeleteGosh, Liz, I don't know if I was aware of the loss of your sister or not. At my age, some things I heard or knew just disappear. However, I am so very sorry for your loss. As the oldest of four sisters, I completely understand your sister Nancy's take on the order of things. Last year, when I found out my youngest sister had been diagnosed with a very aggressive, late stage endometril cancer, I was distraught and I kept saying what your Nancy was feeling: this is so wrong! I should be the first to go, not Norma. I felt overwhelmed by grief and pending loss. We had lost both our parents by the time Norma was 29. That was 40+ years ago, and since then I've been not only her sister but her friend and her de-facto mother. It's been a bumpy ride. She's always been the fearless rebel in the family, and although I'm not the worst worrier of the four of us, I felt the most responsible for her. Norma is still with us. She's undergone a really rough (2) sessions of chemo and also internal and external radiation. We still don't know if they've managed to curtail the cancer. The treatment she had was hopefully going to give her a few more years. Life is so hard sometimes, so unpredictable, so unfair. Some people seem to get so much more than their share of pain and loss. I pray I go before she does. I should be the the first. But we shall see. God has His own plan and we are his sheep, following His lead. Bless you, my friend. You are getting a lot of love and prayers. And Nancy will always be with you as long as you remember her.
ReplyDeleteLiz, I forgot to put my name above: it's Pat. Pat Kay.
ReplyDeleteOh, Pat, thank you for coming by. And, yes, I think that's exactly how Nancy felt! I'm glad Norma's still holding on and wishing your family all the joy in each other you can muster.
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