Lots has gone on in the past week.
Some of it wonderful, some of it not.
But I don’t really know how to say it all, and I don’t know if any of it is even worth saying.
I thought about writing about the three year anniversary of my blog, which passed last week.
I thought about writing about Emily skipping three or four nursing sessions in a row and how we feel closer to finally weaning.
I thought about writing about a visit with my sister that went good and then not so good.
I thought about writing about tears and disappointment and about the books I’ve been devouring this summer.
None of it seemed really enticing or motivating.
Summer with the kids has improved. We’ve had some really fun days and some good outings. The other day when I was home with them, we didn’t do much of anything besides a trip to Target, milkshakes, and the playground, but it was just very happy and relaxed. That was nice. I needed that.
I am beating around the bush, I realize.
My grandfather died last week.
It’s a weird thing. He was my last surviving grandparent. The other’s I lost decades ago in my teens and twenties. But he had always been there. He lived about 5 hours away, so the past few years of raising children, I only saw him a handful of times.
There are a lot of memories. They come bubbling up, and feel mostly happy. He lived a very full, wonderful life. He travelled the world. He served his country. He adored his family.
He died peacefully in the nursing home, in the wee hours of the morning with a hospice aide at his side.
In a way it is sad. In another way, it is really a beautiful circle of life, come to a peaceful completion.
But it brings up other issues.
Like my estrangement, or not really but kind of quite, from that side of my family.
My own fears of death.
My wonderment at trying to explain religious services and traditions around death to my two small children who have not been raised in the church.
My frustration with trying to help two young children understand why we must travel hours and hours away to “say goodbye” to someone who isn’t even there anymore.
My desire to make death not sad or scary for them despite my own fears and feelings.
My stress with spending all this money on traveling that I don’t really have and then feeling guilty and miserly because. . .
My fascination with the transition of death, and how I’ve seen it called a “transition” and that has been helpful. And interesting.
So, I’m taking it all in and trying to be mindful that it is there, trying to accept it and not judge it, and just sit with it in a kind way.
I’m not really ready to write about it yet. It feels kind of big and scary, and I want to try to get to know it and make friends with it before I really delve in and make any decisions about what it is or isn’t.
I’m not in a bad place and I am happy and comforted to know you are all there, and will be there for me when I decide to come back and write, or not write. At times I’m sad and confused, but not in a way that is incredibly painful at all.
Mostly, I’m just blank.
And I’ll leave it there, and be okay with it. For now.