Wednesday, April 06, 2011


Knowing how to feel and actually feeling that way are two things that rarely meet- for me, at least- in times of sorrow.


I sat with my sister and mother and aunts and a few cousins yesterday and sang around my Grandma's bed as she went home. ( I prayed for a miracle, even when we removed the things keeping her alive...I could imagine her eyes open and her head cleared...I waited for someone to come in and say, "This is a mistake. She's getting better!") We guarded her last moments, kept her company as she moved on, and mourned that a life so full could not continue forever.

At least here.

But as I know this, my heart is aching. My body is as tired as if I have just arrived after a long journey, and my attention has attached itself to some bird and flown off to brighter places. This empty feeling is the result of a love for a woman who shaped me, molded me, fought for me- and sometimes with me- and loved me, and everything I did for her was never enough to show how grateful I was.

But...I already posted about that, and told her that, and it isn't those things I regret.

I just miss her. I hate to think of the things that will pass without her presence, her knowledge, her approval or disapproval.

Last night Rosie and I put our babies to sleep at the house in Oxnard, and spent hours keeping our pain at bay until we were tired enough to sleep. I had a dream- the kind of dream you have immediately upon sleeping, that comes on you without preamble.

In my dream, my Grandma lay on the hospital bed that we had seen her breath her last breath, and although she was missing all of the tubes and wires that had been there before, she looked much like those first moments when her heart had stopped. Then, gradually, but rapidly, health and vitality spread through her skin and limbs and she opened her eyes- they twinkled- with purpose and wellness and even joy. She sat up... and I sat up, in bed, thinking, "She's alive again!"

I realized the dream, and went back to sleep, but the dream stayed with me all night, and when I woke up in the morning, my grief was forgotten, for a time, at least, and I know that a miracle had occurred.

I know it, but what I feel is something else.

2 comments:

evawebdiva said...

Sarah....I don't know you nor you I but I came across your blog and had to say how very sorry I am for your loss of your grandmother. I know it is so hard right now and it feels like it won't get better but it will. It will feel less raw as time goes on. God Bless you and your family. Eva

With a smile on my face said...

I too am so sorry for your loss. You write very beautifuly and I could feel you in your writing.

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