In the Quiet Moments

Last night in the quiet time before bed, I was telling James about my conversations with Seamus yesterday and he reminded me that I should be blogging about these sorts of things, but my heart still feels so heavy sometimes that it's just too hard. But he pointed out how important it will be for Seamus to know how important Grandpa Tom was to him as a child and how he struggled just like the rest of us even though he was so small.

We walked down to the gym and the grocery store in the morning and had been talking about Grandma Barbara and when we were going to see her again. And Seamus said, "Mamma, it just isn't fair. I don't understand why I don't get to have my grandpa anymore." On and off during the day yesterday, he'd want to sit in my lap and he'd cry a little. This happens every once in awhile. And it's so hard when they say things that you don't have answers for - which Seamus seems to do more and more now. And I told him I agreed that this didn't seem fair, but that there was nothing we could really do about it now except think about all the wonderful times we had together. You know, I just didn't really have anything else to say, and I really want him to remember some of this time, but I guess I know that these memories may fade. I guess that's the hardest thing to swallow.

So I asked Seamus what he remembered. And he said he remembered going crabbing off the pier (even though we didn't catch any crabs, it was still fun); he remembered the boardwalk and getting pizza and running in the rain; playing at the park when MJ was born and skinning his knees; he remembered opening grandpa's box of treasure from Christmas and reading stories on the sofa. He said he just wanted to see him again. We talked about all of these things for a while and I'm not sure we really felt better, but we did enjoy thinking about all the good times. It's a very hard part of parenting when you realize that no matter what you do or say, you can't fix everything or heal every wound, you just do you best to love your child and help them be the kind of people who can be strong and resilient. Being sad and angry and hurt is all part of life - I guess its best they learn that while surrounded by people who love them.

Finn has also had some just excruciating comments in the last few months. Even though he was so small, he and Grandpa had a very special bond. He really didn't understand what happened. When young Tom died we underestimated how much the boys understood, I think this time we overestimated. Before Easter, Finn kept asking if Grandpa was coming back. And then he would repeat (sometimes endlessly) "grandpa died." or "your dad died." It was almost enough to make James crazy. In early March, before bedtime he started in on his routine and I said maybe a little sharply, "No, honey, it's not nice to say that all the time, you're making us all feel more sad." And I realized right away it was the wrong thing to say. He looked so confused. And I realized he wasn't really making a statement so much as he was asking a question. He just didn't understand what had happened and no one was explaining it to him. So we talked a little more that night and then he said "Mom, I'm a superhero. I save him." And I feel apart. I said there wasn't anything to save Grandpa from - he just was where he needed to be - even though that isn't where we wanted him to be. The next night after showers he asked me again if Grandpa was coming and when I said no, he held on to my face and said "Please". Like we were withholding him. I know that there will be other hard things, but boy, these few conversations rattled within long after they were over.

Boys, you each knew and loved your Grandpa. And he loved you both so much. I hope by the time you are reading these stories that we've told you so many more. I hope you can picture him in your hearts and know that we have been so blessed. MJ all I can say is that he loved holding you and he was tickled to have a granddaughter. I wish you'd had more time together, but I know he would have treated you like a prize. The beauty of family and blood is that even though you won't remember his touch, a part of him is part of you forever and always.

That's enough for now.