I went to University to play volleyball, accidently received a degree and got to know my Grandma.

My grandpa was the best!  Not the best dad, according to my mom, but the best grandpa.  He always let us play in the barn on the farm, took us for sled rides in the snow and let us help him.  He was patient and funny, but not the easiest man to live with.

If my grandpa was the best, my grandma should be a saint. She was my grandpa’s later-in-life bride, but my Grandma Mary ended up being my closest living grandparent and my favourite.

When I went away to University, I moved to the town where my grandparents lived.  The town where they went to the horse races (my grandpa loved horses), the town where they spend almost every moment together and the town where they created a home for me to go to.   My grandma was my mirror because she was so good at reflecting back my feelings.  She had an inner knowing that couldn’t be explained.  She was selfless in her questions.  She was kind in her answers.   She was forgiving and gentle.  She was a beautiful singer. An awesome bingo player!  A beautiful person.

She gave me a potato pot for our wedding.  Every family needs a big potato pot to cook with for their growing family.

She never met my boys, but she saw lots of pictures.  She was always grateful for anything I did.

She was always excited to hear what they were doing.  She listened well.

She was the first person I talked on the phone to about my mom’s death and she really, really got it.  She knew my mom’s heart because her heart was the same.  The both sure loved curling!

And now my heart is broken again.

Shattered in pieces by loss.

Grandma Mary died six days after her ninety-fifth birthday.

Well-lived Grandma!

You lived an excellent life.

Grandma Mary… I love you more than you know.  Thank you for feeding me like a queen while I lived the University life.  Thank you for getting to know Steve and I and our boys.  Thank you for being a peaceful presence.  Thank you for welcoming me into your ways, your family and for living with my grandpa.  I always wish I could have done more, visited you more up north and just spent more time in your presence.   Love you Grandma!

Missing the women in my life that were guiding lights, kind, thoughtful and now out of my reach, not a phone call away.

This is hard!

Humbling!

Life-changing!

You would think after the milestones of the “magic” one year mark without mom that the raw, ache feeling would float away into the abyss.

“Poof”

But apparently grief doesn’t work that way, at least for me.

I live in a world where I am surrounded by three growing boys, married to a man and trying to re-organize a new relationship with my dad in my brain.

My mom was a force:  A balancing point in my male-dominated world.

Here she is in green and black skiing a few years ago with my sister, in purple.

My mom was the idea person.  The peacemaker.  She was the one who would help me pull the chariot, with the boys in it, when we were out cross country skiing.  Mom was full of gratitude for all the people who surrounded her. Mom was a provider of amazing food and had the best laugh!  Mom was a planner and organizer.  If you asked her to do something, you could count on her ONE HUNDRED percent of the time.

How does one move beyond this loving, vibrant relationship into NOTHINGNESS?

What does “moving on” look and feel like?

How do you just “get over it”?

You cry.

You feel really, really sad and lonely, mad and grateful, full of gratitude and overcome with grief.

And then you receive a wonderful poem from a friend and you know you, at least, aren’t alone.

Thanks Shell for sharing these words: (author unknown)