Grief By A N00b

Making the bed. Chimichangas. Folding towels. The phrase "sweet tooth". Pot Roast. Those straps that hold your sheets on. Ironing a men's dress shirt. Eucalyptus. Seashells. Wooden spoons.

All these things remind me of her. All these things have made me cry unexpectedly during the past few months. All of these seemingly mundane, normal things are suddenly sacred and exquisite. All of these things connect me to her, but the 2 parts of us are stretched so far apart that these things cause me pain.

The feeling of losing someone is hard to explain. It was something I feared for a very long time. I've lost people that have impacted my life, people I love, and people I cared about. I was sad to hear of their passing and wiped tears from my eyes at their funerals. I miss them when their name comes up or their seat is empty but that's different than this.

This. Grief. That is what I have been dreading. That moment when someone who is woven into the very fibers of your soul is torn away leaving only the fragments behind. People always talk about the hole that's left behind when someone dies. I have been afraid of that hole. Worried that the hole would consume me, like a black hole absorbing matter and destroying everything in its path.

It's not though. It's just a hole. It's just the way things are now. It's just one less like on a Facebook post. It's one less person to talk to on a Sunday evening. It's one less card to send. She was there and now she not.

My grandmother Drusilla Loree Falk died November 18th 2016. My mother and I share her middle name and her sweet tooth. My grandmother loved me. Her life morphed to embrace and include me. The VHS of Cinderella at my parent's house belongs to her. I would watch it every time I went over. She bought it for us to watch together. I begged to take it home one day and she said I could keep it. Cinderella was her favorite princess.

She was my Granny. She loved family, was the queen of the guilt trips, and thought I was wonderful. I love the way she said wonderful. It was like a song rolling on her tongue, lifting you up to the realization of how amazing life was.

She taught me how to sew. She taught me how to make a bed. She hired me to help her clean and then taught me how. We would clean for a couple hours (sometimes less) and then she would take me to On the Border for lunch. She would get the beef chimichanga covered in queso and I would get the enchiladas. Afterward she send me home with much more money than I deserved.

I remember watching her fold towels because she wanted them done a certain way. She always folded them on the ironing board so she could get the long folds nice and straight. It was a good day when I was trusted to fold the towels on my own. I never fold my towels like that but since she is gone I can't help but carefully take time for each fold. It makes me feel close to her. It helps me remember her so clearly like we are back working together. Sometimes it makes me angry that she's far away and throw them back in the dryer for later.

I get angry a lot now. Angry as I hand wash my wooden spoons and knives because she taught me to never put in the dishwasher. Angry at the fact my hospital corners are not are as taught as hers were. Angry the smell of eucalyptus because it irritated her nose and now it's irritating my memories. I'm not angry at anyone in particular. I'm not even really "angry". I have a pretty bad temper. People know when I'm angry. It's loud and explosive. Isn't anger one of those steps of grief or something? It's a strange anger. A quiet and personal anger. One I carry alone and take out on folded towels and wooden spoons. An anger at how things are now. I didn't call as much as I should have and now I can't. I can't control this. I wasn't planning on dealing with this yet. I'm young, not even 30 and she was only 72.

I wanted more time. I thought I had more time. If there is one thing my granny gave me, it was time. We spent quality and quantity time together. Pot roasts on Sundays (I don't like pot roast), beach trips with seashells and seagulls, birthday lunches and shopping trips. Walking into her house was like being a celebrity. Everything she was doing stopped. It all became about you. Like you were so important this might be the last time she ever saw you. She is one of two people on this planet who can tell by the way that I say "Hey" that something is wrong even if I'm hiding it. The other is my mother. Another hole.

While grief is full of holes, I don't find it full of darkness. It's full of light and peace and comfort. There is beauty in the sadness. An experience that allows me to feel a depth of emotion the equivalent of which I have only found in the complexity of love. I was afraid of grief because I worried it would be unnatural and foreign: it is anything but. It seems familiar and significant. Like dejavu. Like I have longed for her before and I find myself once again wishing we were sharing the same side of the veil. I think that's where the comfort comes in knowing this is only a temporary separation.

When the tears leak out, my sweet 5 year old daughter who also bears our middle name reminds of this fact. That my Granny is waiting in heaven. That we will all be together after we die and are resurrected. My sweet girl tells me these things that she knows so simply because I taught them to her. I know them and she knows them and as we bear witness of these truths to each other. We find comfort and the joy to go on with happiness in our lives despite the holes.

Jackson's Blessing

June 1st,2014 Jackson Ray Skinner was blessed by his father Justin.

Peter and Margie came down from Ohio for the special day

Cindy Hughes sewed a white beautiful blessing suit.

 For those not familiar with The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day saints, when babies are born they are given a name and blessing. A blessing is a special prayer given through the priesthood. It offers counsel, comfort, healing, or specific blessings to the person receiving it. Baby blessings are always special events and I write down what is said so that my kids can use it for some direction in their early life. It is always a sweet and tender experience as a mother to watch my husband bless our children. I feel like I get to have this great spiritual understanding of who these little people are through birth and their first few weeks of life. I sense their strengths.

I begin to understand their potential. I see their challenges. I write about these glimpses of the future in my journal but I don't often vocalize them. It's a little difficult to tell someone that your 2 week old has so much strength and is long suffering. He is calm under pressure. He is not disturbed by the storms in life. That he is valiant and makes the right choices, even when things are difficult. It's not really what people want to know about your baby and it's probably too personal to share anyway. These are not even things I share with my husband. Not because I don't want to but between nursing, diaper changes, rocking, singing, sleeping, playing, working, and attending the big sister, there are few moments to share these thoughts. 

Especially since they are just that, thoughts, impressions. I have no real proof that that is who my son is, I just know him because I am his mother. And that is why I treasure baby blessings. My husband takes our baby in his arms with our closest family and friends, each  with their hands extended working together to support Jackson's tiny body. A symbol that they will be there to support him throughout his life.Through the power of the priesthood, Justin gives him the name Jackson Ray Skinner and then proceeds to pronounce a blessing. Though the inspiration of the spirit, Justin blesses Jackson with the same hopes and qualities I have already seen in him. He blesses him to be valiant, and strong. To respect women and be an example to other men in the church of how to treat and work with them. Letting him know he came here full of faith and that the examples of his forefathers are his legacy to carry on. When I hear these words spoken, it is confirmation to me that Justin and I are getting the same glimpses of who the man who is still so small.

 

I know we are united in our understanding of how to help him become and do the things that God has for him to be and do. It also let's me know that we are not walking this journey of parenthood by ourselves. 

Jackson was His child before he came to us and we will work together to help little, tiny, baby Jackson reach his full potential. I love these little moments and how they bring us closer as a family. How blessed we are to know each other and travel this crazy, wonderful life together.

Grandpa was under strict orders to not touch the baby until Grandma had had her baby fill.

Grandpa did get some snuggles

So relaxing.

Penelope 2 and 1/2

Just ask Penelope and she will let you know she is "two-ah end a hafe-ah". She is growing like a weed and making the transition from toddler to child in leaps and bounds. Literally. He favorite thing in the world is running with jumping being a close second. She is all about her running shoes and begs for me to take her jogging. We live on a busy street and she sees lots of runners. Heaven knows she didn't learn it from me. I do enjoy our jogs together though.

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She had her 2 1/2 check up in June. The doctor was super impressed with her speech skills. She will talk your ear off. There is nothing more hilarious than hearing babies say big phrases. Like "Oh shoot Mommy! I forgot to take back my libary books!". When she combines three or more sentences in a row it always catches me off guard and makes me laugh. I was bothering her the other day and she said "STOP! Look at me. You no do dat ever again or I gunna put you in time out." She was serious too. I love they was she talks and the cute little learning English phrases are slipping away. I wish I had written them down. 

She always calls herself "me". "No, me do dat (that)!"

For a long time, she would get confused and call everyone else me also. She used to say "I love me (you)!". It always made us giggle but now she has it down. 

Some favorite words and phrases

-slippy cup (sippy cup)

-Me Justin Sinner 

-pellopee (Penelope)

-putting baby in front of people's names. Baby Jackson, baby daddy, baby Margie. 

-hip-ups (hiccups)

-heartbeaps (heartbeats)

She is a handful and always full of energy. There was a lady at the park when I was 41 weeks pregnant with Jackson. Her kids were like 2 bumps on a log. The boy was a little older than Penelope but had clearly directed his moter skill efforts in places other than running. As I waddled, Penelope ran, non-stop for the next 45 mins. The mother was clearing watching us the whole time and finally piped up "Is she always this....active?". I said always. She is either running or sleeping. She looked a little horrified.

Penelope is so kind and gracious. She will come downstairs after a nap and ask "Mommy clean the living room?" I reply "Yes, I cleaned the living room". She smiles very big and yells "Oh! Fank you mommy! Fank you for cleaning my living room!" This happens when I make do her laundry, help her put on her shoes, or feed her. Which happens to be about ever 45 mins all day long. That girl can eat. I guess if you are constantly running it's okay to eat 4 boiled eggs and 4 pieces of bacon for your first breakfast.

She is also very kind and loving. She wants to help little kinds do stuff. She always wants to teach people things. Unfortunately, she is very physical and forcing a little babies head the way she want it to go is rarely appreciated. She plays well with big kids though because she never cares if she falls or gets hurt.

Penelope is extremely independent. She wants to do everything herself. She is brave. We do lots of affirmations in our house. I am patient. I am brave. I am kind. I am a good helper. I am thankful. I make her say these things when she is having trouble acting appropriately. It's cool to see how these are shaping how she deals with new situations. If something is scary she will let me know she is scarred. I tell her it's okay to be scarred. She usually sits there for a minute and then comes back and say "No Mommy, I wanna try it. I brave. I no scarred". She loves to be brave and be a good helper. She hates to be patient. She is determined. If it's in her mind she will do it unless you can persuade her with some additional information that would make changing her idea worth her while. Most of the time, my arguments fall flat and she will do it the way she wants. If she receives too many suggestions about how to do something, she will always go back to her original thought.

I think she is just the neatest. She is so wonderful and is growing into such a great little lady. I was talking with my mom about how all the things that are most difficult about her also her strengths. She will be a force to the reckoned with when she is a fully functioning adult. Until then, I will cuddle her when she cries,try and keep up with her when she runs, take all the hugs and kisses I can get.

Memorial Day 2012

*July 2012 I found this post ready to go but guess I never published it. Here is something we did a couple years ago.*

May 28th 2012
Everything is more fun with a baby! Okay, maybe not long car rides, church, extensive graduation ceremonies, trying to make dinner at a decent hour, taking a shower, business meetings, camping…So, basically most things are less fun with a baby but holidays are not one of those things. In fact, even a semi-small holiday can be so exciting when seen through new eyes.

This year Memorial Day was a little different for me. While I have had numerous family members serve in the military, those times are now the things of legends.  I was never directly affected by it and I have never been a part of the culture. Days like these are very abstract to me. Thank you, ambiguous, unknown, faceless soldiers, for fighting for my freedom. It’s not that I’m not grateful. It’s just not something I have thought a lot about before. So, why is this year different? My sister Aubrey just married a Marine and that’s weird. Now that soldier has a face, he has a family and I am part of it. Now when he gets deployed, I will worry and pray till he is home. Now when the news talks about Marines, I will listen. Now, I am a part of this strange culture that I still don’t understand. Of course, I am still on the outskirts of it and its only just starting but I was a little more thoughtful and a little more grateful for all those who have served our country. This year was not all about the cookout for me and I hope I can teach Penelope to see what I am beginning to see.

Bathing Beauty

Aubrey is soo tired of the paparazzi 

Chad and Aubrey came back from their honeymoon and were there to celebrate the day with us. It was great to be together as family and friends. We had the traditional cookout and all the fixings, including Mom’s homemade potato salad. We don’t have a pool but we do have a hill, black plastic, and a sprinkler. Yes my friends, a giant slip and slide of epic proportions. We did this last year for the fourth of July and it was a hit. We learned that the more clothes the better, which explains our glamorous attire.

We used a different part of the hill this time with less than spectacular results. You had two choices: Fly off the slip and slide halfway down the hill and shred you legs with grass or make it all the way down and pray you did not die when you hit the fence. I use the word choice loosely, it was kind of like the first time you go bowling. You know the laws of physics are totally dictating the outcome but you are still getting gutter balls.  Chad came to the rescue by padding the fence with his VMI “hay” or mattress and bedding. It saved us more than once, although on the last time down Hannah managed to avoid it and hit the fence dead on. She takes after her mother whose goal is always to “make it” to the fence. AKA: Hitting her shoulder so hard it completely reversed the weeks of chiropractic appointments she had just completed. Awesome Mom.  In our family, it’s just not a successful event if no one goes home wounded. The number of wounds was probably higher due to the fact that Justin’s goal was to tackle everyone down the slide at least 10 times. I believe he exceeded his goal. We all settled down afterward for some TV and a fistful of extra strength Tylenol.

Slip and slides require all participants to be at the peak of physical fitness and wear really tight shirts 

Penelope is not quite ready for daredevil status so we parked her with recovering chemo patient and she got some time in the kiddie pool. We forgot to pick up some little swimmers diapers for her so she had to go commando under her swimsuit. It was fine, except for when Dad was holding her and she peed on him.

 We finished off the day with a fireworks and sparklers. Penelope thought they were pretty cool. I was expecting her to be scared but nope she was full of wonder.