A few years ago, Emily got into the settings on my iPhone and named it Emilyisawesome. Yesterday, Don and I met with a grief counselor and Shawn, our new pastor, at the Unitarian Universalist church that we have decided to attend. It has a focus on social justice and peace, open-mindedness, all are welcome, and accepted: in short, it’s everything we want in the community we want to build here in what-is-to-become our new home. While we were sitting in the parking lot dreading the sorrow of re-sharing our story, my fitness notification popped up (which I’ve never seen before) and Emilyisawesome wrote, “You’re almost there. You can do it!”
So we laughed and then went in and cried a bunch and were heard and held up with grace. I love sweet and salty (salad with fruit in it; ham and pineapple pizza), but I’m not a fan of things feeling good and bad at the same time. This was one of them.
We drove home in foggy rush hour, mostly silent and pondering. When Don and I grieve together, it’s heavy, and it’s neither of our faults. It’s just the combined grief of this intricately crocheted blanket of love that we have so beautifully and painstakingly designed with our Emily at the centre of it, has become unravelled. It’s not easy to pick up the stitches. There are both a million things to say and yet there is nothing at all to say.
My childhood bestie, Kristi, is coming over with a ‘big salad,’ the way Elaine preferred them on Seinfeld, and also bringing along my Daddy. Such gifts: the willingness to bring food and kin, along with comfort. Kristi is pure ease – she laughs easily, has a memory like a steel trap for all of our childhood shenanigans, and is so laid back that everyone relaxes in her presence.
So today will be good. I put on mascara even, though if I cry, it’s okay too. Today, I am going to focus on happy memories, I asked Emily to talk to me today – she’s been gently making fun of me all morning: Your clothes look like pajamas, Mama: what else is new? You need to start drinking better coffee and stop putting so much sugar in it. Have I taught you nothing?”
She’s always enjoyed poking fun at me, and I feel lighter. She suggested no to the mascara, but I defied her. I wonder if she’s going to tell me, “I told you so.”
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