A couple weeks ago at Disneyland, we were hurrying from California Adventure to Downtown Disney to get to our dinner reservation. Along the way, what should have been a completely normal scene—one I would typically consider sweet, or maybe even not notice—had me coming undone.
There in front of us was a boy, about 12 years old, and his grandpa. The grandfather was in one of those scooter-type wheelchairs and the boy was beside him, holding on and laughing.
Instead of a smile, I felt tears on my face. There it was—that sneaky little feeling—grief. Yes, I was overcome with sadness that Big, who was right beside me holding my hand, would never get to know what it’s like to be 12 years old, at Disneyland with my dad—his grandpa. That I would never get to quietly observe the two of them, laughing and creating memories together. Ever again. And, though I hope he did, I’m guessing that boy didn’t know just how lucky he was—how extraordinary it was—to be doing such an ordinary thing.
Grief is funny like that. There are the moments you expect it—when people ask how you’re doing (and really, sincerely mean it) or when you’re watching a TV show with a plot line that hits too close to home—but it’s the moments grief blindsides you that are the hardest. Because when you can feel it coming on, you have at least a small sense of control. But when you don’t, there’s no way to know how hard it will hit and how long it will last.
Those are the moments that make you feel different. Jaded. Like maybe the world will never look as sunshiny again. But soon enough your little boy does something that makes your heart burst and you remember that love is far more powerful than grief. But it’s ok to feel—really, really feel—both extremes when they grab hold of you.
During the fifth month of her pregnancy—while expecting her first child—Natalie Taylor is devastated by the sudden death of her husband. Her journey with grief is chronicled in Signs of Life: A Memoir
This is such a real, beautiful post. It made me so thankful that my sons still have four grandparents to make memories with, but the fear of knowing how precious all of that is can be paralyzing.
Enjoy that special time your boys have with grandparents. Take lots of pictures and write down special memories…they’re priceless and will help your kids remember the love when the time comes to say goodbye (though I’m 35 and still have a very vibrant grandmother)!
Amy, what a beautiful moment to witness. Both my grandparents died when before I became a teenager. I feel very lucky that my parents are so involved with my kids. Thanks for the reminder!
You certainly are lucky, enjoy it!
Here it is, 4 P.M. and I thought I would make it through the day without crying, when here comes your post and, the tears start flowing…such a touching post…sweet and sad.
So glad you shared it with us.
Sorry to make you cry, but glad you’re glad.
Oh that was such a beautiful post. It brough tears to my eyes – especially as I posted something talking about my wee ones’ relationship to their grandparents. Grief is funny and it does hit in odd times and places because it’s the little things that matter in life!
So true!
I think one of the things that makes time with grandparents so special is that kids don’t know how lucky they are. They can just live in the moment without any knowledge that things could be any different.
This is a lovely post and captures the emotions that make us most human.
Such a great point. Thanks so much, Jennie.
I totally understand, Amy At least the grief sneaking up on you, not the feelings for my son (who I don’t have). Thank you for again sharing so much of your life, and doing so with such eloquence. I’m sure some of your readers “get” this all to well, but it’s also a great reminder for all of us to appreciate our family while we are still able.
Thanks
Thanks so much for reading and supporting me, Nanc. I always think about the words of support you’ve shared with me. xoxo
Knowing Big, I think he is mature enough to reflect back on the “Grandpa J would have loved this” moments. That said, though your dad can’t be with him (or Little) for those priceless memories, the thoughts of what could have been are still very active in their minds. Kudos to you for instilling a strong sense of family with your boys and teaching them about life and death. They are stronger than you think…And, as you continue to grieve, which you will do for a long time to come, know that your children will help you through this because of all that you have taught them..
Thank you for the comforting thoughts, my friend.
Cheers to you for letting it all in. You’re the best.
Thanks so much for listening and supporting me.
Tears…..
It does hit you at times you just wouldn’t expect! I’ll never forget walking over to Kelly Vanis’ to say hi to her Mom. I hugged her and squeezed her…….because she smelled exactly like my Mom! She uses the same perfume that my Mom used. I started to cry my eyes out. I had her perfume on me the rest of the day and thought of my sweet Mama non stop.
Great post. You truly are such a gifted writer.
Oh, Annie, I can just imagine. Thank you so much for your kind words.
Amy, a beautiful way to put such a tough time. thanks for reminding me not to take the time my boys have with their grandparents for granted. i love the idea of helping to keep these memories alive for them.
Thanks so much, Jill. I hope your sweet little ones have lots of time with their grandparents!
I’m always uplifted knowing how much you loved your dad – cousin Johnny. He and Dana shared so much joy when it came to Big and Little. I can hear their voices now telling me some of the antics they enjoyed. And as a grandmom now myself, I know just how much love Johnny felt. Even though he couldn’t stay for as long as we wanted, your gifts of grandkids made his days here filled with extra love. Thanks for this touching post.
We definitely had the gift of knowing our time was limited and we made the most of it! Enjoy that precious little granddaughter of yours! xoxo
You have grief pegged. Comes in waves across the years when you thought it was long gone. Keeps life real in a way.
That it does. I can imagine that you’ve had some very similar moments through the years.