Friday, March 16, 2012

the slow down

This afternoon I drove from my sister's to my mom's with B, my nephew, and my niece packed in the backseat of the Subaru like (the cutest) sardines.  My nephew spent the fifteen minute drive entertaining the babies and chattering away.  That kid loves to talk.

He was telling me about his new frog shirt, which he loves because it reminds him of his frog who died.  "Do you know what I mean, Angie?" he asked.  "My sweet frog who died, who went to heaven and is with Charlotte now."

I looked in the rear-view mirror, smiled, said, "Mmmm."  A response that didn't require much effort.  My nephew knows just where my heart is.  It seems he drops Charlotte into our conversations when I need it the most.

I can still recall with great clarity the day we were driving through the suburbs of Seattle when he said, "Charlotte died, but you stayed here with us."  At that time, about three months out from her death, I wanted to spin around in my seat and ask him why it happened like it did, why she entered the glory of heaven while I was left to grieve and mourn.  As if he would have the answers.

We've entered the slow down, which ironically is a kind of gearing up, a preparation for May and her second birthday.  Months of our lives are lost to the slow down.  From when Easter dresses first appear in stores through her first birthday, from Thanksgiving to the first of the year, all wasted time when we accomplish less as we grieve more.

The approach of her second birthday is so different from the first.  We have B now, that's a glaring change, but it's also not the first one, which was SO huge.  We're not planning an event, or asking people to do anything, or requiring much from ourselves.  It will be her day and then it won't, simple as that.

How can one day matter so much?  How can a short statement from a little boy in the backseat make me wonder if she will be remembered this year and the next and the next and the next?  It's so easy for my nephew, he relates heaven to Charlotte.  When people or animals die they are with Charlotte, period.  It makes sense to him in a way I cannot grasp.


The one true and constant thing about grief is that it is never easy.  It is hard, difficult, wrenching, intense, immeasurable, but never easy.

Sweet, sweet girl who should be nearing two: I love you, I love you, I love you.

1 comment:

  1. No, never easy. Thinking of you guys.


thank you!


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