Awkward Introductions

Do I say Mother of three? I am, or I was. Should I say "Am still" ? Do I say I was a Mother of three and two are still living? That sounds like I am expecting something to happen to the other two. But honestly, when something like that comes at you in the dark of night and stops your daughter's heart before you can even get to her apartment building where she collapsed outside of her own front door, those dark thoughts do haunt you every single day. They haunt your sons too. Vulnerability is visceral now. So, I choose to say Mother of three; two are still living. It seems the most authentic. 

Losing a child is always hell. It's a special club that no one every wants join. We all want out of this place. And, we learn quickly that it's not very exclusive and that is terrifying. Losing a child during the Covid-19 pandemic is something extra. You don't get to have a regular funeral or memorial. While you do not have to endure socializing with a lot of people when you can barely stand or remember to breathe because your world has crashed and you are falling into a pit and barely hanging on to the edges, you don't get the hugs and support of those loved ones that normally would have been there. Even if they had no words, or the wrong words, they would have just been there with hands, arms, locked tearful eyes and care. In Covid times you can't do that. You lose another thing.

Katherine's memorial was live streamed on Facebook because dying at the age of 22 is seriously difficult for youth to process and I knew from my own life that going through any type of memorial was important. Growing up where I did, we lost an alarming number of kids our age over the years between junior high and high school and those funerals and memorials bonded us and kept our mental health in check. Our families and close friends, really needed it as well. People watched her memorial literally from all over the world. It was viewed almost 2000 times, something she never would have believed. Her brother flew back from his duty station in Japan and the Marines gave him over a month off to be home with us. They've been careful in their attention to him even since his return, which I don't think any of us would have expected. Noah, on the other hand, still had to attend and study for his freshman year online classes at MSU because computers don't understand Grief Absence Forms. 

My husband has long ago thrown himself back into work because he must in order to keep our business running, also a challenge during Covid. But it can be a distraction too. Still he has been powering through on some days when he just wants to sob. 

I feel like I am progressing the least quickly than the guys, but I don't beat myself up for that because the journey is different for everyone and perhaps I am just being more up front about my grief and feelings than they are which wouldn't be the first time. (Trust me, they'd laugh at that one.) 

The day it happened I was a rock. The chaplain at the scene had to speak to me about being too calm and taking care of everyone else too well, but not taking time to process this myself. I was well aware that I was doing that because I go into Emergency Mode in any crisis. I take charge and put things in order as best as possible. Taking care of business and other people is what needs to be done and I will be the calmest one in the room even on that surreal and awful night when my daughter was dead on the floor of her apartment hallway under a blanket and I couldn't even go see her because it was technically a crime scene as they didn't know what caused her heart to stop. (Since then we learned it likely was an electrical issue and that is a whole difference subject). I break down later once all the things are done. And trust me, I did. I terrified Mason with my howling sobs a couple of weeks later while safely in my bed, after we secured all the of the forms, the funeral home arrangements, the obituary (which I wrote myself), the memorial  (I helped design and I picked the music and readings), flowers ordered (I picked those too), and the scholarship fund in her honor organized and set up. Then I could lose it. And I did. But then I had to get it together during the day and cry in the quiet moments. Functioning normally, though, isn't really happening. 

I sang to Katherine one last time in the funeral home before they took her to the crematorium. I ran my hands through her beautiful hair, which looked really good and I thought to myself that she would be happy about that, and I stroked her cheek and hand. She had given the Gift of Life so while not all of her was there, technically, and some would say her soul was not, I still had to sing the last song I always sang in her long bedtime concerts nightly. It was Golden Slumbers. Not exactly the same version as The Beatles, but some other tune with the same words. I don't know if I created it myself or heard it from someone once and remembered it. But it was always the closing song. And so, I sang. 

The process for mourning is slow and long. I know I'll never be over this. She was the Rory to my Lorelai, as she liked to say. We were the only girls in a house full of guys, which we loved. While I know that eventually the memories will make me smile before I cry, I can tell that is still a long way down the road. I am giving myself the Grace to know that it's perfectly ok to take as long as I need. The only good thing about staying in to be safe during Covid times is that I don't have to try to make excuses to not participate, and then deal with people feeling like I'm taking an awfully long time to get over this or not doing it right. I get to just be Covid safe and work on grief journals, meditations, and anything else that helps. 

There are a lot of people mourning who have to get back to things anyway this past year, and more still to come. I am so sorry for that. I have watched my guys all painstakingly navigate that and they really don't get to grieve the same way that I have the luxury to do. I am lucky in that one weird sense. To all of us in this horrible position of mourning during ungrievable times, I note that I am finding comfort in little things that remind me of my Katherine--a sweater of hers that I can curl up in, or jewelry, photos, videos of her amazing vocal performances, even just using her old desk as my own now brings me some joy. Find those little joys of any kind. We need them to boost us up and remind us that our people were here in our world with us and loved with us. Say their name and share their photos or remembrances for as long as you want. It will never be too long. They are part of us and live on in our story telling. Keep telling their stories. Keep singing their songs.