Losing A Loved One Is Never Easy

Reflecting on the past week and trying to think of something of value to share with you I found myself pondering losing a loved one.

Today is the 10th anniversary of my sweet Nonna passing away. What a wonderful affect she had on my life.  More mother than grandmother.  More friend than I could ever hope for.  She was a spunky 5 foot 2 ball of fire who could make a meal fit for a king out of any leftovers.  She was the mother of three boys, maker of Gnocchi (just ask, I'll share the recipe), sewer of hundreds of quilts, planter of the garden, bottler of the most amazing grape juice and keeper of a very large piece of my heart.  I am fortunate to be able to live in the home that was hers and not a day goes by that she is not brought to the forefront of my mind.  Sometimes this brings a giggle.  Sometimes a grin.  Sometimes, tears.

My sweet sister-in-law lost her father yesterday after spending almost two weeks in the hospital with him.  He was her dad.  She was his baby girl.  He was father to 4 girls and "Pa Pa" to many.  My two daughters grew up knowing him as Pa Pa Wade and we consider ourselves remarkably blessed to have known him.  Wade believed in good hard work by the sweat of your brow.  He grew a garden that I have never seen the likes of.  Potatoes, peas, carrots, beans, onions. His Walla Walla onions were sometimes as large as a cantaloupe and just as sweet.  He had a dry sense of humor that could bring you to tears faster than his onions:) but, oh how he was loved. And how he will be missed.

While never easy, losing a loved one is inevitable.  Just as the minute hand keeps moving forward, the sun rises and  it sets and each day our mortality moves in the same direction...to a close.   I didn't always have this simple outlook on life and death.  It took being a caregiver, working with residents and their families in a skilled nursing facility and focusing on the home health and hospice services in my job to see the process a little more clearly.

I remember the day my husband walked into my Doctor's appointment to tell me I needed to go to Nonna's immediately, she was not doing well.  The drive to her home was only four miles but it seemed like an eternity.  I remember telling myself over and over, out loud, that there was no possible way she could have declined to such an "immediate" state since I spoke with her just hours ago on the phone.  No way.

Nonna had endured Dementia for the past few years and we had experienced some "moments" that it was very evident, and other moments that gave me hope that the diagnosis wasn't true.  I enjoyed dinner with Nonna and Nonno just the evening before. Nothing too out of the ordinary that would make me believe this was coming.  Our daily morning phone call had not led me to believe anything was amiss either.  I was not prepared to see my sweetheart curled up in bed and barely able to recognize most people or speak clearly.

Within the next 24 hours hospice services had been set up and family had been notified.  My Aunt and Uncle  came in from Texas. Children, grandchildren, friends and family began to converge upon the home filling it to the brim with memories, stories, laughter and bonding. Very tender feelings were shared, erasing any passage of time or distance that had kept them away.  Hours turned to days and then a week had passed.  I remember sitting by Nonna's bed holding her hand, reflecting on the memories and contemplating what my loss of her being here physically would be. I was brought out of my thoughts to her asking me, "What's wrong?" Her beautiful blue eyes were open and she was looking at me.  I had been crying but I assured her nothing was wrong. I told her how much I loved her and found myself lacking enough words to truly express it.  She said she loved me too.  That was the last conversation I had with her.

I still openly weep at the thoughts of that time.  Nothing could have prepared me for it. Only time makes the memories sweeter, the hurt a little more distant.  Time, and talking about her.  I realize the hurt is mine. It's a selfish kind of thing. Me, missing her holding my hand or laughing with me or teaching me to cook something.  I miss the smell of her kitchen and can sometimes recreate it. When that happens, I smile and think of her.

Everyone grieves differently. There is not one right way for everyone to do it. We are all wired in such an intricate, unique way that no two people could ever grieve the same.  Choose what works for you.  It could be writing your thoughts, talking about your loved one, releasing a balloon or serving someone in their honor.  Whatever you choose, don't stop.  Fully honor your loved one in the way that is appropriate to you. Mostly, continue to live your life. That is the best way to honor your loved one.  Live and love.