Friday, June 3, 2011

June 3, 2011

Dear Nan,

It's past midnight now, which means that I made it through what would have been your birthday. A day that was once full of lemon cakes, bouquets of flowers and laughter has morphed into a day of profound sadness.

I baked you a lemon pound cake. You would have loved it. You could have eaten it without a fork, just picked up thick slices and sat on the front porch with a glass of Dr. Pepper. I baked it using your mixing bowls, your silver measuring spoons and your cake stand. I even used the orange bundt pan that you had hanging on the wall in your kitchen. I had hoped that the baking process would bring some sort of peace, but I admit that it just made me sad.

I don't know what to do to make me less sad. I keep thinking that this will get easier.

I got a job. I said, "yes" to every sport or activity that the kids wanted to participate in. I volunteered to bake cupcakes, make costumes, be the room mother and work extra shifts. No matter how many activities that I find to fill up the hours of my day, I am still sitting here at 2 and 3 o'clock in the morning with too much time to think.

I went to the Alzheimer's support group. I sat there on my metal folding chair soon after you were gone and listened to people speak about the spouses and parents that they had lost. I felt that my grief wasn't large enough in comparison to what they had lost. I felt inconsequential and shallow.

I can't talk to Brad because just one month ago he lost his dad. His pain is so raw and too fresh. I can't add to his sadness. He didn't get to say goodbye.

I got to say goodbye. I was there. But when I should have been letting you go, I was instead holding on tighter and tighter. I can't let you go. I can't seem to get around this huge, gaping hole that I am finding every time I turn around.

Until I learn how to live around this sense of loss, I will continue surrounding myself with the things that brought you joy because they bring me moments of joy. I planted zinnias and two beautiful hydrangea bushes. I set my dinner table with the plates and bowls that you always used. I tell the kids all the stories of our many adventures so that your love will live on in them.

Happy Birthday, Nan. I love you. I miss you.


Mitralee said...

oh honey, I don't know you but I wish I could give you a big hug. Continue to add beauty into your life and keep your loved ones close.

Gina L said...

I know that we've never met, but I just want to come give you a huge hug. Your loss is NOT inconsequential, Estee. It is profound and what you are feeling is the aftermath of it. Grief sucks!!! I don't even know what else to say about it. It's a long bumpy road, a deep ocean, a nasty monster...whatever analogy you want to use, it still sucks! (((hugs)))

KariAnnS said...

Oh Estee- I can just feel your pain through the screen. I am sharing my tears with you. Your pain is your own and you are doing what you can do not only get through it, but live with it. Your Nan was an amazingly, wonderful part of your life and always will be. Thinking of you!

Nancy L. said...

wow, i wish i had some words of wisdom! but i just wanted to say that i can imagine your pain.

Patrizzia said...


myheartsinlynchburg said...

thinking of you, friend... wes

Jenny said...

thinking of you. if you ever need to talk. i'm here. i went through it with my grandma, too.
p.s. i use her measuring spoons, too.

Michelle said...

Sending you lots of hugs!! Always thinking of you! ((hugs))

Chasity Grace said...

big hugs estee!!!!