There is a level of guilt that I had been experiencing that if I was not thinking of Emily often enough or with enough intensity, I was perhaps not grieving enough, which is pretty much exclusively my full time job with the time off we have been given for the most horrendous of reasons.
When my Facebook memories came up a few mornings ago after another dismal night alternating between non-sleeping and graphic nightmares, I audibly sighed, feeling the obligation to look at all the precious photographs of days gone by, and the consequent sadness. Then, I heard a voice in my head gently saying, “You don’t need to look today, Mama. Do something else.”
With that whisper of permission, I went on to read my cosy book , snuggle a bit with my sweetie, and get on with another day – each one feeling so busy in spite of no routine, no schedule, no obligations…the oddest time I’ve ever experienced, even as a teacher with summers free.
Emily continued to come up in conversation, in thoughts, in everything really, and this teeny voice kept repeating a mantra to me, “Just say hi, Mama.”
So it was the first day that I did not ruminate. Whenever Emily came up in my thoughts I just said, “hi” and smiled, even if it was a sad smile. It mostly worked. It felt good. I didn’t feel guilty. And it gave me some breathing room. I acknowledged my youngest daughter, chose to believe her presence was with me, and carried on.
Of course, I spoke of her. How could I not? There were many and varied conversations of Emily throughout the day. There was grief, and lots of discombobulating: it took the longest time to get through Walgreens to pick up a tiny assortment of things, with Ellen following a short distance behind me, gently managing my perambulations.
Our plan had been to go to a wee wool shop and purchase some lovely yarns so Charlotte and I could begin new projects (Don’s 15 cast-on stitches for his first scarf turned into 43 after less than 10 rows, so we are letting him take a break or perhaps find another way to keep his hands and mind busy). After a long drive across town, we found the shop closed. The snow had become sleet and driving by strip malls and fast food joints, to find ourselves at JoAnn Fabrics exemplified to me all that was wrong with the world. Why so much ugliness and sameness and lack of creativity, even in a craft store? I sat on a wheelchair at the front, waiting for Charlotte to finish her perusing.
Coming home, tears streamed down my face in silence as Ellen drove and Charlotte sat in the back. Gratefully, no conversation was expected. In these days at Ellen’s and the same at my sister, Nicole’s, and my dear friend Steph’s, I have done exactly nothing to help. I have sat, often in stupified silence, as love, manifested as efficiency and industry, is all around me. There is chopping and murmuring and washing of dishes and steam from woks and pots and stoves. Nothing is expected in return, not even conversation. They know that in this infancy of grief, nothing can be expected. I hope they know their loving ministrations, providing us with a soft buffer against the storm of sadness, is the most profound kind.
The worst is bringing out the best in all around us so we can gingerly tiptoe through this time, in soft woollen socks.
Just say hi. Breathe in, breathe out. Just say hi.