Terrible at goodbyes
I've been very lucky. I knew all four of my grandparents for the first two decades of my life. I lost my paternal grandpa while I was in college, and I just lost my maternal grandpa this past weekend. His memorial service is tomorrow. It was sudden, but not altogether unexpected. He'd been in the hospital or nursing home since before Christmas following a fall.
Last week a bout of pneumonia led to a chest x-ray. That x-ray discovered a tumor in his lung which had metastisized into his ribs. The doctors said six months and sent him home. The day after he finally got back home, he closed his eyes and left us. It was very peaceful.
I've been helping out what little I can. I wrote the obituary. I put together a biographical pamphlet to distribute at the memorial service. My mom and grandma seem to like it when my 3 year old daughter is around to distract them from their grief so we keep driving across town to keep them company. We've all cried and laughed and eaten food brought over by friends and family.
I tried to explain death in very simple terms to my daughter. That when you're very, very old or very, very sick your body will stop working and you die. You don't eat, or breathe, or see, or feel, or move. But your soul goes to heaven. It's a little much for a 3 year old, but I was trying to strive for honesty and going by the recommendations I'd gathered from a couple hours of research on the web after googling "how to talk to your preschooler about death". I don't know whether or not she really got it.
Last night, we were sitting in the car in my grandma's driveway getting ready to start our 45 minute drive home. It was late and she was tired, but she told me very clearly that she didn't want to go to heaven tonight. I assured her that she wouldn't be going to heaven for a long, long time (please, please, please, please, please, please, please God don't make a liar out of me).
I miss my grandpa, but in all honesty I think he's been waiting for the past two months. Waiting to go home. Waiting to be at home before he went home.
Last week a bout of pneumonia led to a chest x-ray. That x-ray discovered a tumor in his lung which had metastisized into his ribs. The doctors said six months and sent him home. The day after he finally got back home, he closed his eyes and left us. It was very peaceful.
I've been helping out what little I can. I wrote the obituary. I put together a biographical pamphlet to distribute at the memorial service. My mom and grandma seem to like it when my 3 year old daughter is around to distract them from their grief so we keep driving across town to keep them company. We've all cried and laughed and eaten food brought over by friends and family.
I tried to explain death in very simple terms to my daughter. That when you're very, very old or very, very sick your body will stop working and you die. You don't eat, or breathe, or see, or feel, or move. But your soul goes to heaven. It's a little much for a 3 year old, but I was trying to strive for honesty and going by the recommendations I'd gathered from a couple hours of research on the web after googling "how to talk to your preschooler about death". I don't know whether or not she really got it.
Last night, we were sitting in the car in my grandma's driveway getting ready to start our 45 minute drive home. It was late and she was tired, but she told me very clearly that she didn't want to go to heaven tonight. I assured her that she wouldn't be going to heaven for a long, long time (please, please, please, please, please, please, please God don't make a liar out of me).
I miss my grandpa, but in all honesty I think he's been waiting for the past two months. Waiting to go home. Waiting to be at home before he went home.
posted by Tacey at
12:21 PM
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3 comments
