Restless, we tried to sleep. Hailee's TV still on, playing the intro menu of "Meet the Parents" over and over again from behind her door. We still could not turn it off. I am pretty sure the boys remained on the couch and love seat for nights to come. They had on the living room TV, us our bedroom TV.
I can recall beginning to doze off and then being startled awake again by the visions of what had transpired. We both tossed, and turned. Laying flat was nearly impossible as I felt hungry for air, so I had to try and fall asleep sitting up. The panic attacks and anxiety were the worst I have ever felt in my life. I was scared out of my mind that something would happen to the boys. After all.... the realization had begun set in that we didn't even REALLY know what had caused her death. Was it contagious? Would the boys get it or Chad or I? How about all the visitors at the hospital. My mind played tricks on me, logically reminding me that most of the Doctors and Nurses that provided her care did not wear masks, but then the illogical side of my brain had me convinced I would lose another child. It felt so out of control and the most frightening thing I have ever experienced.
Finally falling asleep, I believe we again did sleep through the night and the light of day brought a similar scene as the morning before with sobs and disbelief, she was still gone.
One memory that remains from this 2nd morning was the fact that our cat was standing about an inch from my face and when I opened my eyes, she started rubbing her face against mine. This was completely unusual for her to do this. She carried on with this for the longest time. She also met Chad with the same response. We said right away that somehow, someway the kitty knew Hailee was gone and how sad we were. She was trying to help us. Kitty did that for days.... weeks I think, after.
This was the day that we visited my Grandma Carolyn at her Assisted Living apartment, which is also where I worked. It was extremely painful to go there because I knew I would see co-workers and it would be heartbreaking. We arrived at her apartment and managed to go in a side door without seeing too many of my staff or co-workers. We knocked on her door and went in. The minute she saw us, she burst into tears. She said something on the lines of "Oh my dears.... come here, come here". Tears streaming down her beautifully aged face, a look of certain understanding in her eyes, she held us both tight while we sobbed into her tiny frame.
Grandma had lost her first child, Judith Lee Proulx, to what was likely meningitis when Judy was about 14 months old. I heard the story many, many times in my life and knew very well that it had impacted my grandparents for the rest of their lives. The ENTIRE rest of their lives. One of the first things Grandma told us is that this is a Life Sentence. You never ever get released from this pain. She explained that in time... it will be less gripping. It would seem further away but it would never, ever be more than a breath away from you at all times. She had such sage advice. We soaked it in like sponges, ironically as we really were not taking in very much. She cautioned that the slightest thing would trigger the pain, and there would be no warning. It would be like a tornado, suddenly upon us with no regard for what we were doing in our day, or who was in it's path. She was right on all of her accounts.
Grandma told us, almost as if she knew she had limited time to teach us these lessons, that we needed to keep talking about what had happened. She urged us not to shut down and to keep our individual doors open for others to enter and help us. She told us we needed to do this for as long as we could, for she knew all to well that people do not stay with you for long through grief. She told us that people will be ready for us to be "over it" or "better", far before we were even ready to try to take a normal breath.
She told us that the hardest part now would be when people would go home. Go on with their lives, their children, their legacy. She said that people who we thought we were very close to might grow more distant and that there would be shining stars for us that we didn't expect.
She told us many things that visit. After the first bout of tears and sobs, Grandma very matter-of-fact told us what we needed to hear, not what we wanted to hear. She did not tell us that "God needed another angel" or that "she is in a better place". Grandma knew we didn't want an angel in Heaven, we wanted an Angel in our arms!!! In the next days and weeks, the things that grandma didn't say that day will become a future blog post to help others know what and what not to say to a grieving parent.
We left Grandma's feeling... so strange. It felt like she shored up some stray thoughts for us and filled our tool belt, preparing us for the hard work ahead.
Grandma privately struggled greatly with what had happened. The nursing staff at the Assisted Living noticed her mood and anxiety increasing negatively. She didn't sleep well, or eat too well after Hailee died. Her health continued to decline in the months after Hailee's death and she died six months later from complications to her lung/ heart disease.
Her passing was so bittersweet. I knew she longed to be with my Grandpa and her beautiful Judy and her daughter Candice (who died in 2005), yet I needed her here too. I needed her guidance, to help me get through this. She knew what I meant. And, too soon.... she had to go to Heaven. She talked about Hailee a lot in her final days, when the line between this world and the next becomes blurry. She talked of her and to her. She told Chad and I that Hailee had been to see her and that she had a "lavender ribbon in her hair". She promised me she would look after Hailee when she got to Heaven. I was, admittidly, horribly jealous that she was going to Hailee, yet I knew that I wanted to live on with Chad and my boys. Such a strange, strange feeling.
Grandma's visitation was on my birthday that year. My family brought a cake to the funeral home (you would have to know Grandma Proulx to know how fitting this was as she LOVED cake) and they sang me Happy Birthday. I felt like I could almost hear grandma singing along, harmonizing as she laid in her casket, in the same funeral home, the same location, with Hailee's quilt draping over her legs. The same quilt that had draped over Hailee, just six months prior.
Grandma and Hailee and Doctor Seuss
All for now,
Heidi
No comments:
Post a Comment