The Firsts

When someone you love dies, the "first" events are agony-the first Christmas, the first birthday, the first Mother's Day, Father's Day...the "firsts" reopen the wounds and shine a spotlight on the hole in your life.

My mom died in November, and Christmas and my 50th birthday followed in rapid succession. I knew they would be hard. The "firsts" always are. I braced myself for it, and gave myself permission to feel whatever I was going to feel.

What has caught me off-guard, however, is not the firsts in my life, but the firsts in my daughter's life. I was prepared to miss mom for my firsts-my daughter's firsts are knocking me on my butt.

I had already bought my mom's presents for my daughter at Christmas, so my daughter's birthday was the first "first" for her without my mom. My mom would buy her beloved granddaughter everything under the sun. We all knew that time was finite, and I tried to pick the mountains I died on, within reason.

At the end of January last year, mom and I were out shopping for my birthday and my daughter's birthday. Mom was not herself that day- she was confused, she kept asking why we were at the mall...she had had what I know now was a TIA, but it was the first one, and I didn't know what it was then. We bought my birthday present, and then headed to my daughter's favorite store "Build a Bear." We bought a purple stuffed animal and my mom recorded a special message for my daughter "Grandma loves you..." When we got home, mom phoned 30 minutes later, in a panic because she didn't have a birthday present for me. It was sitting in a prominent place on the kitchen table and she had forgotten why we had gone out that day. She called and asked me 2 more times in the next hour.  I went back to mom's apartment and discovered that she hadn't taken her pills for days, and had forgotten to eat.  It was the day when everything started going wrong and marked the beginning of the spiral downwards to her eventual move to the nursing home, and her death 10 months later. On that day, I almost didn't take mom to Build a Bear because she always spent too much money in there. I'm glad I did.

My daughter makes her first Communion this year, and my mom was looking forward to it. Faith was a foundation of my mom's life and she was very pleased I was giving my daughter the foundation of faith as well. My dad was a man of faith, and he would have been over the moon watching his granddaughter make her first Communion, even more so than my mom.

As the lead up to first Communion, my daughter had her first Reconciliation this week. The church that is associated with her school is not the church we normally attend, but I have a family connection with it. It is the church that my parents attended until my dad died, and it is the church where we held dad's funeral. There are large wooden screens at the back of the altar that surround the sacristy. My dad led the fundraising campaign at that church to build them. They remind me of my dad.

As I sat in the church waiting for my daughter to make her first Reconciliation, grief overwhelmed me. What surprised me, however, was the grief I felt for my mom AND my dad. They would have been so proud of their granddaughter. Missing dad is usually reserved for Remembrance Day...this grief caught me by surprise, to the point where after my daughter returned to the pew, I had to excuse myself for a private cry in the bathroom.

There are a number of other firsts ahead of me, and I have to accept that some will be worse than others. Tears showed I loved.  I can own that.

(Sometimes I sneak into my daughter's room and play the bear. "Grandma loves you." and I answer "she sure did.")