The Gift of Loss

Wherever we went my grandma always held my hand- at church, walking in the mall, and for family outings. I still remember the feeling of her soft wrinkly skin, her small wrists, her laugh and toothy smile. The way she would pin up her hair into small Bobby pins under a scarf so that when she let them down her hair would curl in ringlets all over her head. I remember her smell, her warmth and the feeling of her home at Thanksgiving with my aunts and uncles and cousins all around together.

When I was 13, Grandma died from a rare form of pancreatic cancer. I removed myself as much as possible from the process as it was a horrible deteriorating death. She withered away in 3 months time from her diagnosis. I was never taught to process my grief. Watching my mom go through hers was extremely heart-breaking. She relied so much on Grandma as her confidant with so many struggles and challenges behind them both between Grandma’s divorce and my mom’s early pregnancy. My mom was generally a quiet person so to witness her outbursts of tears and wailing was unsettling. 

I was just entering teenage years so it was appropriate for me to focus on my social life. Going to concerts with friends, taking more of an interest in boys, experimenting with alcohol and sneaking out at night after my parents went to bed. I distracted myself from the pain and my parents were distracted with their own emotions so that they didn’t pay much attention to what was going on for me. On the surface I was an energized, budding young teenager out to conquer the world.

When I was a little girl my grandmother and my mom were my biggest fans. They often encouraged my performances as I danced and sang, laughing and smiling to one another, beaming their love at me. I was given so much affection and attention and loved being the center of their world. Constantly being hugged, kissed and held, the 3 of us were a hum of energy together, everywhere we went.

My mom’s mother lived in the hills just past Sacramento. We would drive for hours from San Jose where we lived, to visit every few months stopping only for bathroom breaks. We’d arrive famished from the car ride and Grandma would sit me on a bar stool at the kitchen counter and spread honey on a piece of wheat bread for me. Then she and my mom would get to talking and catching up. They’d talk for hours while I settled in with my honeyed bread, peeling off the crusts and licking the honey straight off the bread.

My grandma collected knick knacks. Dolls that you couldn’t play with. Beautiful, brightly colored butterflies in display cases hung up on the wall. Her garden of flowers was extraordinary. She had hillsides blanketed in pink and violet in both her back and front yard. Small rock pathways made their way around the house though the cascades of dancing petals on the breeze. There was a single rose bush under a canopy to protect it from the harsh sun. Her husband, my step-grandpa, Fred, had worked hard to prepare the hard, red, clay-earth around their home. The grounds had not been friendly for planting anything. He took time to make it so that she could create an oasis of paper wings that would offer relaxation and a haven in the otherwise barren area they lived in. I loved exploring the yard and was told to watch out for rattlesnakes. I was given a jar with holes in the top of it to take out with me. I could put the grasshoppers in it that I caught that hopped around everywhere! I was entertained for quite a while and so proud to show off my captives.

They had a cat who loved to catch the wild rabbits and leave them on the front porch half eaten. They told me to watch out for rattlesnakes because they lived up against an open field where we could walk out for miles among the tall wild grasses and weeds. Once as we took an evening stroll around the block I was happily doing cartwheels. Over and over I went until I stopped dead and shrieked! A huge king snake was sunning himself in the middle of the road, right in the middle of my cartwheel path. 

My grandma and Fred would come to visit us as well and I had to give up my room for them to stay in as it served as the guest room for them. These visits were routine from the time I was born. We’d go to San Francisco for the day, go to church on Sundays, make meals and shop.  She loved riding the bus to get around if my parents weren’t able to drive her when Fred would return home and she’d stay for longer periods of time. 

For a few summers, I went home with them and visited for a week or so, going to the senior home lunches for them to show me off and share my youthful energy with the older people there. I would bring my boom box and tape cassettes to listen to my own music in the room they set up for me and in the car wherever we went. There was an arcade near their house and my grandma loved to take me to get frozen yogurt. These were memories all before I turned 13.

The loss of my mother’s mom happened so quickly and without a lot of context for me to get complete. I was so young it was difficult to process. I cried when I saw her body lying still, her face with a look of peace at the wake, grateful that she wasn’t suffering anymore as I’d seen her in the last few weeks she’d been alive. We never had Thanksgiving with my mom’s family after her death. I guess the hole she left was just too big to fill. 

I sometimes return to my memories to see what I can recall, feel and stay present to so that I can get a little more complete each time. At times I feel her around me, cheering me on, smiling at me, proud of me and shining love at me. My grandma adored me and I wish I could’ve had a little more time to have her in my life.

Revisiting times in the past when presence wasn’t possible in the moment or difficult under circumstances or because of age, is important. I believe it helps me to integrate what I couldn’t at the time. When the feelings come to rest, I believe we can all awaken restored, remembering who we are as a whole person including those difficult times and more so, the love in contrast which is usually what makes the feelings arise. The loss, the unpredictable sudden change, the need to let go without choice. These times transform us in unseen ways. Going back can bring opportunities to consider a broader perspective when before we had been carrying that past event with the filter of the person you were at the time it happened. 

Grief is undefined for many of us. With a variety of filters and all the ways we resist and deny it, especially without knowing it, we relinquish the deeper wells of knowing ourselves. That is the gift of loss, I think. To pause and consider, “who do I want to be?” with a newfound depth and understanding of the preciousness of our lives.