It’s hard to say farewell to the place in which I feel so close to him. When the weekend is over saying goodbye to Grant’s place is emotional and I even find myself walking through the house asking him how it looks. I tell him to enjoy watching over his place, say my bye for now and I love you. I find myself asking Steve to turn the truck back so I can, just for a moment, imagine him looking out the window waving to me because that is what I know he would do as he radiated that beautiful smile. At a very deep level returning home feels very empty. I feel his presence and I feel I can still be a mother to him. I know that’s a weird thing to say, but a part of us “mothers” our children forever whether it be a bit of advice, complimenting their achievements or just being their biggest fan. A mom, no matter how old their children are, just wants to talk about their children. They are the biggest part of who we are. I think what I’m trying to explain is how when you lose a child you have an overwhelming loneliness; an empty place in your heart that is unexplainable. Even over a year later I’m still at a loss for the words to explain how I feel, but when I’m at Grant’s place I have an answer to that question — I’m good : ) because I’m with my boy. I can feel him everywhere. I talk to him in my head while others are around and out load when I can. I can’t imagine never hearing myself talk to him again so I just talk about everything because as much as he depended on me for 23 years for guidance, I know I depend on him to lead me through the life I still need to live. He would want be to be happy again. I believe this is his way of helping me through this project and having faith. It’s a place I can scream at the top of my lungs and no one will hear or lay peacefully by myself and remember my days with him. It’s a place we can celebrate his life with family and friends laughing, eating, and just celebrating each other.
This weekend priming and painting was what I looked forward to, but more was accomplished than that. Since losing Grant I have tried to find meaning in everything; maybe it’s all in the search of understanding why I lost my boy and why such a tragedy had to happen to our family and why prayers and pleading feel so unanswered. Those are questions I will never have answers to, but in my search for understand I have been given a gift from Grant; grief has opened my eyes to so much. Just one is the over-looked acts of kindness and the little things people do for you that I may have never noticed because it was just a small part of a big project. This weekend I thought I went well prepared for the to-do list we hoped to accomplish. I thought I had everything I would need and I was on top of even the little details. Sunday morning was one of those ‘oh so little acts of kindness’ that could go overseen as not a big deal, but this was a big deal. I had brought a painting brush that I believed was the perfect brush to trim with… haha. Lesson number 1; you trim with wood and you cut with a brush . All these years I have called the detail part of painting trimming. Cutting, cutting… Once again I have learned something new and the learning continues because the brush I brought along to ‘cut’ with was I’m sure in painter’s eyes a joke, but what I take with me is a lesson learned far more important. Within minutes of painting/cutting around the ceiling I felt complete disappointment. I wanted to do this job perfect; no smudges, no mistakes and in just a few minutes I knew the brush I had was going to bring me to tears.
25 miles from a hardware store on a Sunday morning I only had one option and that was to ask Gloria and Wesley if they had a brush that I could borrow. Once again angels on Earth allowed me to continue my mission for the day. Like I said it’s the little, the maybe ‘gone unappreciated’ acts of kindness that really make a difference in someone else’s day. That cutting brush made what I so wanted to do with a joyful heart possible. I finished what I woke up hoping to finish; maybe not perfect, but feeling pleased with me.
With every dip of paint and every stroke of my brush I thought/talked to my boy. He sat next to me on that scaffling to take all the pain from my arms and balanced me on the tallest ladder. Grant would be so pleased I depended on him. I know he is there. Grant’s Place is where we laugh, where we love, where we accept, where we heal.
My God has promised to wipe my tears, comfort my saddest of days, love and care for me as much as I forever will my Grantie.
I Love You.
Your biggest fan,
How do we grieve? Awkwardly. Imperfectly.
Usually with a great deal of resistants. Often
With anger and attempt to negotiate.
Ultimately, by surrendering to the pain
– Melody Beattie, The Language of Letting Go”