In a heart-breaking tun of events, we lost Ruby Reed’s grandmother Helen yesterday. While I am stunned and shaken by the hole she has left, Debra is shattered at facing a future without her mother.
There is no replacement for a mother. Grief is a sorry, flimsy substitute.
The details are grim and remind me of my own, my wife’s, my parents’, my child’s mortality. An unexpected weekend stroke followed by a few days of teetering on the edge of hopeful and then tipping suddenly into the worst possible outcome. By Thursday the doctors confirmed, Debra’s mother had left us in all but body. In turn, she had hollowed out shells in all of her family and friends. The gap she leaves is impossible to fill.
She will no longer be late for dinner. I will not have to worry that she will leave an empty glass in the fridge so that I don’t wash it. Visits won’t be put off or changed at the last minute and my wife and I won’t have to continually bicker about them as a consequence. There will be no more big Christmases and, while I would have said that was a relief, instead it feels sharp and cruel. How terribly unfair. If I have cried a bucket for the loss of this woman, a person who loved her daughter and granddaughter past what I thought was ever possible, Debra has sunk in an ocean of tears. This is RR’s third funeral in her short two years of life, losing two great grandmothers and a beloved grandmother. Unfair doesn’t begin to cover it.
Think of us. If you’re the praying kind, pray for us. Let go of her for us as we cannot ourselves. Most of all, shower each other and your daughters and your sons with a bit of light in Helen’s honor as she loved nothing more than people, particularly children. Although all of our hearts have a vacancy, knowing that you are lighting up your own hearts for your loved ones gives us a world of comfort.
Filed under: Second Year |