"Brace Yourself": On The Seventh Anniversary of My Grandchild's Death

The other morning, I was awakened from a deep sleep to a memory from Kitty's funeral: my daughter, Mandy, standing at the ambo, delivering the eulogy with no sign of wavering, no indication that she would break down.  She wore her carnation pink suit and led everyone seated in the pews in singing "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star."  We all sang, we all cried.  Mandy held herself together.

The priest presiding at the Mass didn't think she could do it, but promised her that if she was able to get through a practice run for him, he would allow her to memorialize her child during the funeral.  And so, she did.  I was proud of Mandy that day and I will never forget her courage and strength.  But what made me recall that moment as I woke the other day?  Why did it rouse me out of such a deep sleep? ​

This week, our family faces the seventh anniversary of Kitty's death.  Images of the family's car, front end down in the dark, icy water; of Kitty connected to the many machines at the hospital; of her visitation and service, will force their way to the front of our minds.   For me, I believe the process started early this year.  It emerged in my subconscious while I was sleeping, telling me to "brace yourself."

Along with the memories from seven years ago comes the grief and the wondering what life would be like if Kitty had survived or if the accident had never happened at all.  In either of those scenarios, our lives would be much different.  On one hand, if the family had made it home safely that January night, Kitty would be almost 8 years old and in second grade.  The odds are pretty good that the Basher would not have been born, as Mandy and son-in-law had planned to have three children.  On the other hand, if Kitty had lived through the trauma, she would undoubtedly be a medically complex child with multiple care needs.  Of course, we pleaded with God for Kitty to live, but had she, her quality of life would not be 'normal'.  We would be dealing with a much different struggle.

I cannot, however, dwell on what might have been.  So many various possibilities run through my mind and I need to find ways to let these thoughts go.  Reality is more than enough to handle.

Beginning this week, I will daily relive the events from the day of the accident through the day of Kitty's funeral.  I will remember what was happening at every moment on each of those days seven years ago, from how we all found our way to and from both hospitals to how all the flowers were transported home from the church.  Every detail will be recalled and reexperienced.

The well-known saying, "Grief is the last act of love we can give to those we loved.  Where there is deep grief, there was great love," resonates with me today.  Over the next two weeks, I will experience both the intense sadness and the great love I feel for my grandchild. 

Each morning, I will wake up and need to say, "brace yourself."

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