January 28th was a Sunday.
A blog of grief. CW: Child death.
My husband and I celebrated 19 years married, on January 28th.
It was a casual Sunday morning and when I saw my daughter calling I didn't think anything about it. She lives 10 hours away in Tennessee & though most of our chats are over messenger or text, a phone call isn't unheard of. I don’t remember how I answered the phone. “Heyo.”
“Mom, I am not okay. I am not okay. Sit down, are you sitting down? I am not okay.” Her voice was frantic and afraid and my entire self was listening to her. I was sat at my desk; my mind was trying to guess what had happened. I don’t know if any scenarios flashed through my mind, but what I said was, “I'm sitting down, what is it Baby?”
“It's bad mom, it's bad.” Her soul was melting over the phone and I was so far away from her. I am not sure what I thought was going on, but it was so far from what was really going on.
I was not ready when I asked, “What happened?”
“Mom, I am not okay. I am not okay. Sit down, are you sitting down? I am not okay.”
“Weston died, Mom. He DIED!”
I don't remember when February started and here we are on the first day of March.
We were in Tennessee by Tuesday. That was January 30th.
There were so many people around my daughter; her circle was so solid and compassionate.
She broke cycles.
He was only 3 years old and had so many friends. Good friends.
There was food and comfort all around my daughter; I am so grateful.
We had to come back to my husband's job and my son's school. But we knew we’d return for the Celebration of life.
I made a program for the Celebration of Life. In hindsight, this was too much for me.
I was very sick for a week - I wasn't able to eat. Grief and the Flu, I think. The week is a blur of sleeping and trying to make a program that was good enough for my grandson.
The celebration day is a blur. It was mostly laughter with pockets of sorrow. My oldest grandson Remington sang songs for his brother while I held his mother, my oldest daughter. And we wept. But there was also a basketball shooting contest and a bouncy house. Weston would have loved it.
…and now, here we are, a dozen days since then already.
It feels weird to be so far from my daughter.
But I've never lived in Tennessee.
It feels weird to be able to function at all, but it also feels weird to be depressed.
Nothing changed in my day to day life, right?
I don't know what to do with any of these thoughts, so I'll set them here.
Have you ever grieved a child? A grandchild? Tell me about it.
And though I wouldn't want to rush out of this grief, as it's all I have left of Weston Reed, I do hope that March has brighter days - where the fog lifts. Thank you for reading.
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You have all my love and prayers. Please remember to take care of yourself. People always say that in times like these but the forgetting to eat and lack of will are real and grief is insidious about sneaking up on us just as the moment when we think we are fine for a bit. The only thing I can say is that you and your daughter are cherished, and share with you what my grandparents shared with me, "We are grateful for the time we are given."