7/22/10

Loss (x 2)

When we were little, my cousin and I dressed up in starchy holiday dresses and tried to sit still for formal meals at our grandparents' dining room table before begging to escape, hand in hand, to the cool, dank basement that drew us in with its ping pong table and wooden blocks and TV.

One summer when I was about twelve, my family visited her family at their farm. During the days, we crept around her barn and fields, whispering rhymes and nicknames to the cows- "Let's sneak a peek at Teeka-Teek!" - before running away and laughing ridiculously hard. At night, we lay on the floor of her room and drew pictures in our spiral bound notebooks; hers detailed portraits with dimension and perspective and detail, mine doodles and stick figures.

Another summer, she taught me to play a card game she called Egyptian Rat Screw (my apologies to all Egyptians) and we played endless rounds of it at our family's lake house, sitting on squeaky, rusted metal beds, listening to rain pound on the roof over our heads.

Three years ago, we spent a week together in Yosemite on a big family trip. Z was just a year old and had major stranger anxiety. But she loved my cousin, who gave her just the right mix of respectful distance and luring enthusiasm. Z ran right up to her, which surprised all of us, my cousin most of all.


The last time I saw her, I told her I loved her and hugged her tight.


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I first met my father-in-law when he and my mother-in-law were flying through the Bay Area and had a long layover. CG really wanted us to meet, which meant something significant to all of us. They were both so welcoming; his mother smiled warmly at me, his father clapped me on the back and hugged me tight. Meeting his parents solidified what I was already feeling: CG is a great person. I want to marry this man.

One holiday when CG and I were engaged, his whole family was in Arizona and I asked to see any and all family photos. (What can I say, I'm obsessed with photos). They brought out several slide carriages and we all sat around a darkened room, watching my husband's 70's childhood projected onto a white wall. They all ribbed each other about bell bottoms and knee socks and lapel sizes. I was nervous but wanted to fit in with this quick-witted, sarcastic family. So when a close-up picture of my future father-in-law popped up, complete with wide lapel, poufy 70's hair and gold-rimmed glasses that caught the sunlight just so, I hooted out my own contribution: "Just look at your GLASSES!" and waited an all-too-quiet moment before nervously glancing over to see his reaction.

There he sat, a bemused, forgiving smile on his face. Also on his face? THOSE SAME GLASSES.

(SHOOT ME NOW AND THEN OPEN UP GROUND AND SWALLOW ME WHOLE.)

I stammered an apology, I think. His kids laughed lightly and moved on while I melted into a puddle.

It was still burning a hole in my stomach a few months later when my in-laws came to visit us. The visit was the same as always, my father-in-law quietly emptied the dishwasher and folded the laundry before I could even knew it needed to be done. The one big difference: he had new rimless glasses on his sweet face.


In his hospital room this last week, my sister-in-law posted a photo of my father-in-law and Z in which he's wearing Z's dress-up tutu on his head like a crown. Apparently it made quite an impression on the medical staff, one of whom remarked: "You can tell he's a great grandfather and man if he's willing to wear a tutu, especially like that."

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When last I wrote, I was supposed to go to my cousin's memorial service. But then my husband got a phone call. The kind of phone call you always think is so far down the road. Until it comes.

CG was with his father when he died. He is still in Arizona now, of course, with his siblings and their spouses and my mother-in-law, sifting through the practical details and the overwhelming grief. And I am here, of course, wiping bottoms and reading board books and crying in the bathroom for exactly 23 minutes while Caillou's whiny voice drones on in the living room. My girls need me here and my girls can't be there right now as the family deals with the many heavy details.

We will travel to Arizona this coming weekend to celebrate his life; the girls, especially Z who dearly misses her Papa, need to be there. We hope to find a babysitter for at least E though so that I can grieve and support and remember too. Because there is just so much grieving and supporting and remembering to be done. And it's just so hard to do when you're a mama to two little ones.

21 comments:

Kathi McCracken Dente said...

Oh honey! I am so sorry! I have been worried about you because you hadn't posted in weeks. I wish there was something I could do. I wish I could watch the girls for you. Big hugs to you and to CG and of course to your little sweet ones. Our thoughts are with you!

Amy said...

I am so sorry to hear. Thinking of you and your family.

Fran said...

I'm so very sorry to hear of both of your recent losses. The memories you shared here brought tears to my eyes and it is obvious how much you loved them both. Hugs and thoughts to you all as you celebrate their lives and mourn them being gone. Your children have two more very special guardian angels.

B said...

My heart just aches for you. Papas have a very special place in the hearts of little girls- I know this will always be true for your girls. And your cousin sounds like she was a wonderful person and friend to you. Positive thoughts being sent your way through the internet and beyond.

Marie Green said...

Wow, what a desperately hard time for you and your families right now.

I really hope you have peaceful travels and can feel full of life when you see the rest of your/his family.

Hugs, and holding you in my thoughts.

Bird said...

I'm so sorry for you and your family's loss. May your memories be a comfort at this time.

Swistle said...

I'm sorry.

Amy said...

I am so sorry. My condolences to your family for the loss of two loved people. We had a year like this when my husband's best friend and my husband's mother passed in the same week. It was a very difficult time but I didn't have children then. I can't imagine what you are going through but you are in my thoughts.

Michelle said...

I am so sorry. That is just a lot to handle.

GratefulTwinMom said...

So sorry for your loss. Like the other comments before me, let the memories be your solace in this time and know that your friends are thinking about you.

Kira said...

I am so sorry for losses. Sending you and your family lots of love and supporting vibes. Wish I could babysit for you. I love you!

grammalouie said...

Z & E's Grampa and I are leaving Vermont tomorrow to fly to them and then for all of us to fly together to Arizona on Sunday.
We are profoundly saddened by the loss of this dear, sweet man and want to be there to support each other and celebrate his life. A life worth celebrating indeed.
Thank you all for your words of support. They mean a lot to us.

Hillary said...

Oh I am so very sorry.

miyoko said...

madly wiping tears away... im so so sorry.

Sarah said...

I'm so sorry. For all of it. Sending love to you and yours.

Sarah said...

I am so sorry to hear about your losses. Big hugs to you and your family. I know that it really helped me when I attended the service for my grandmother. I hope that you find some peace.

Dr. Maureen said...

Oh, I'm so sorry.

Whimsy said...

I am so sorry that it took me this long to comment. I wanted to think of the right thing to say and still sit here, days later, struggling with those same words.

I am so sorry for your loss, and my thoughts and prayers are with you and your family.

And of course all husbands are different, but I went through this with Chip when his dad passed a couple of years ago and it was one of the hardest things we ever did, grieving that loss and trying to come to terms with it while also being supportive and loving to each other. It can be so hard. And I want you to know, that if you ever need to talk or want to email or just have a listening ear, let me know.

Erin said...

Oh love. So much grief. I am so sorry. What lovely memories. I hope they bring you some comfort.

Astarte said...

I'm just catching up; I wish I had been here sooner. I'm so sad for all of you. What a terrible time for your family.

Sam said...

You'll never regret blogging these memories, you'll have them with you forever. I am so sorry for your losses.

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