Condolences

As a bereaved parent, you would think I would be really good at condolences.  I even write this blog that sometimes talks about how to give (or not to give) condolences.  But in fact, I am terrible about it.  I was terrible at it before and I still am.  Oh, I can probably give condolences to someone face to face and not embarass them or me.  I certainly know what NOT to say.  But still, even for me, what TO say is hard.  (When at loss, give your sincerely condolences and not another word.)

What is also hard for me is cards.  Part of my job is to buy cards for all of our employees who have occasions...retirement, birthdays, births, and deaths.  I'm pretty good at the first three, but I find it harder and harder to do condolence cards.  And this is just for coworkers; I can't imagine how I am going to cope when someone I love loses someone they love. 

A few weeks ago a man I worked with lost his wife.  She was elderly and had alzheimers, but I knew her before that.  All I had to do was go into the card shop and buy a condolence card for the office to send to him.  It was damn near impossible for me.  Maybe, probably, worse, because I knew her and liked her.  It took me three weeks (unthinkable), to even walk into the store. 

Finally I did what I had been putting off.  I stood in front of the condolence card section in the store, looking for an appropriate card and I cried.  I saw all of the cards with their little white identifiers...Mother, Father, Grandmother, Grandfather, Son, and of course, Daughter.  And I just couldn't stand it.  Not just for me, but for all the pain of all of the people who are living with loss.  I lost my daughter and it hurts so much.  I can't imagine losing my husband, even knowing that it is a possibility someday.  I don't know how I could live through it.  I don't even think about the unthinkable possibility of losing one of our other children or grandchildren. 

After the trauma of the card store, the card sat on my desk for another week.  I just couldn't pick it up without tears.  Finally, I gave the blank card to my boss and asked him to send it.  I tried to explain why I couldn't do it, but I didn't make sense even to me.  He eventually did it.  I hope it was ok.  I don't know.  It seems like something I should have done myself.  That nobody could do it better than me.  But maybe .... oh, who knows ... maybe I'm the worst person for the job.

It seems so remote that the card shop puts them in categories with index cards.  I get it.  I understand that is how it needs to be.  It is the way of the world today.  But I can certainly see the beauty of the handwritten card of yesteryear.  Way before my time.  Where a blank card and words written from your own heart might be more meaningful to the recipient and even, possibly, less painful for the sender than having a "hallmark" moment. 

Where did my rainbows go?

I have written in past blogs about the number of brilliant rainbows I have seen sine Michaela died, the fantastic weather I have experienced, and my incredible good health. But now I am am lost and confused. I haven't seen a real rainbow in months, we had horrible weather while my family visited for Christmas, got rained on during a boat outing, and then I got the flu. All normal things that happen to normal people, but it makes me feel like I have been forgotten. Left behind.

An unsolicited medium, right after Mich died said she would be my guide, with me for 12 years. I was skeptical, but still held on to that number. Now I feel without her completely. It has been so long since I have felt her with me. I had dreams a few days ago, but they did not feel like she was with me, they just felt like dreams. I still appreciate them, they happen so seldom.

I was thinking of this yesterday while I was driving home from work. I was thinking that I still need these little signs...these tiny indications of hope. That if she thought I was ok and didn't need her any more, she was wrong. That I was sorry if I hadn't talked to her enough lately.

It was rainy of course. Why else would I be thinking of rainbows? And just as I pulled into my neighborhood a rainbow appeared. Just a thin, partial rainbow that lasted only a minute or two. It made me happy and sad. It made me feel like she is still there but leaving me. Like she loves me, but has to go. I felt a message there and I didn't like what I felt.

I'm not ready to say goodbye. It isn't fair. It simply isn't fair. I can't have what other mothers take for granted...a wedding, grandchildren, care in my elder years...but why should I lose my rainbows too?