Number 70

Grief, again

Two different events took place this morning, at pretty much exactly the same time, that served to crystalize some thoughts that have been noodling around in my head recently. But before I tell you about them, I need to first comment upon the chapter that all the childhood experts leave out of their advice books for parents: What to Do When Your Children Don't Need You Anymore. Yes, I am aware that both of my daughters will always NEED me in some emotional, metaphysical way. And they both still occasionally need my financial assistance (especially the younger - tuition, you see). But, by and large, they're both full grown adults, each ready to take on the world on her own terms.

Emma will graduate from Iowa State University in less than two weeks. One semester early, by the way. Her degree is a Bachelors of Architecture. She already has a job with a firm in Boston, MA that begins on January 2. She and her significant person already have an apartment in Back Bay (which means nothing to me, although people in the know usually go, "oohhhh" with approval when they hear that), that they plan to fill with furniture from IKEA that has no vowels in the names. Grace will finish her second year at Concordia College in the spring. She is excited, because she and her friends will be moving off campus for housing next year. Hello independence, goodbye dorm rules. On top of that, she has secured a job for the summer that will keep her in Moorhead, MN. She is very excited about both of these things. Obviously, neither Emma or Grace will be at home for the summer.

All of this is reason enough for me to offer up to Rebecca a psychic high five, right? Isn't it the ultimate parental goal to raise up your children to be happy, healthy adults who are ready, willing and able to help make the world a better place? And I am extraordinarily pleased for them. I am filled with an exorbitant amount of pride in the beautiful young women they have each become. There is no question of that. But there's also this feeling of, well... kinda like finishing a hard job, dusting off your hands, looking around, and thinking, "Now what?"

It's been almost four fucking years since Rebecca passed, and in that time my grief has taken on as many shades as Crayola has crayons. Just lately I've been lamenting how much of their lives the girls will live without their mother's presence. It's a particularly vile strain of grief because it is accompanied by a crushing guilt that I am not missing out on all the things that Rebecca will.

Which brings us to this morning. On FB, there is a video is going around about an elderly foreign gentleman who is learning to speak English. At the end he travels to a far  (English speaking) land where he is able to greet a young child with "Hello, I am your Grandpa." It's tender, sweet, and funny. Almost simultaneously, Grace sends me a piece of artwork that she has been working on - a sketch of her and her mother playing whiffle ball, circa age 3. The 'lines' of the drawing are words and terms that Grace is using to describe the relationship with her mom. All of a sudden, my chest was tight, and I couldn't get out of the house soon enough.

Graduations, new jobs, engagements, new homes, marriages, life's ups and life's downs, grandchildren, etc., etc., etc. were all things that Rebecca and I were supposed to share as we grew old together, and now it feels like I'm cheating because I'm here and she's not. And a giant "fuck you" to the first person that tells me that "fair" has nothing to do with it. I'm well aware that rationality has very little to do with the way I feel. But "knowing" something and "feeling" something are, always have been, and always will be two different animals. Grief has very little to do with "knowing." And sometimes grief really kicks your ass.