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The last time I sat down to write, I was starting work on Kitty’s unintentionally forgotten memory book, a task that was entrusted to me not long after Kitty was born. My goal was to complete the book in time to give my daughter on what would be Kitty’s eighth birthday in April. It was a goal I couldn’t meet – craft stores were closed because of the pandemic and online shopping proved frustrating due to sold out pink paper and scrapbooking supplies.
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 Next Sunday, sixteen family members and close friends will be 'walking and rolling' in memory of Kitty at a fundraiser for Faith's Lodge, a retreat center that supports parents and families coping with the death or medically complex condition of a child. I kind of wish that the event was today, rather than a week from now, although I completely understand the reasoning. So, for today I am at home enjoying a peaceful afternoon and gratefully anticipating next Sunday's event.
Both Mother's and Father's Day - quite honestly - aren't very enjoyable anymore. As I suspect may be true for many grieving grandparents, we are also bereaved sons and daughters. We have no living parents to honor and we silently watch our own children suffer through the well-intended greetings of 'Happy Mother's/Happy Father's Day' as they mourn the loss of their child. Recently, I was asked to participate in a special grief session designed specifically for grandparents. The invitation came verbally several months ago in a very vague 'would you be willing to ...' manner. Until about one week before the session, I didn't have a clear grasp on either my role or what to expect. When I learned that I was to 'provide a nugget … something newly bereaved grandparents could take away to give them ideas for coping', I dug deep.
"When does my summer vacation start?", I asked my kids the last time they were on the hunt for a babysitter. Since the beginning of June, Papa and I have spent 31 days - I counted - taking care of the little grands, in various numbers and combinations. A few times, we had all eight of them here together! Needless to say, it's been a summer of noisy laughter, squishy hugs and sleepovers ... but not a very prolific summer of writing.
My summer of grandchildren was not without Kitty Rose, either. In fact, many of the sultry, sunny days revolved around her; meeting with the publisher of 'her' book, gathering school supplies to donate in her memory to the school where she would have begun kindergarten this fall and tending to the pale pink vincas planted around her cemetery marker. This summer was also the time for me to make a brave request. I asked Mandy to take me to the site on the lake where their car broke through the ice four-and-a-half years ago. I wanted to see exactly where my granddaughter died.  's New Year's Eve. If you are reading this any time today or on January 1st, I'm guessing that 2016 was not a good year for you and your family. My sympathies to those of you who lost a grandchild - or any loved one - and to those who experienced multiple losses over the last 12 months. Most likely, you are saying 'good riddance' to the past year and are looking forward to better days, a more healing and comforting 2017.
Being a bereaved grandparent takes us on a complicated grief journey. We not only have to work through our own grief, but also that of our child. In order to be successfully supportive of our children, we need to be understanding of and empathetic to the enormity of their loss and pain. But our hurt is also deep and we should be caring for ourselves, too.
How do we manage that? In the first year after Kitty died, I had no shortage of people with whom to talk. Opportunities were over the phone with family and friends, over the fence with neighbors and over the internet with Facebook contacts. Everyone wanted updates on Mandy and son-in-law ... especially after yet another court appearance and the news updates that followed.
When Kitty and her dad weren't much of a story anymore, the curiosity ended and so did the conversations. My friend, Rita continued her weekly calls to check on me. My family was there if I wanted to talk, but they were dealing with their own grief. I wanted and needed to find a new outlet - a different place to mourn with others, more specifically, with other bereaved grandparents. It's amazing how God gives us what we need at the time we most need it. I thought I understood what Mandy was going through after Kitty died. I could see how much she suffered, although having never lost a child myself, I did not know exactly what she was thinking or feeling. I could only imagine the unimaginable loss and pain.
Two and a half years later, I gained insight. I heard my daughter speak. I remember the day I started taking care of myself.
Even before Kitty died, the immediate need was to help Mandy and her family. They spent a week living with us - from the day of Kitty's death until after the funeral. There is one question we all wrestle with. It's that big, looming question, 'Why?' Why did this happen to me? ... to my son/daughter ... to my family? ... to our precious grandchild?
In a very cold and realistic sense, it can be answered by the facts of what happened. There was an accident: you gradually learn what happened and piece together the events leading to the death. Your grandchild was ill: you read medical records, speak with caretakers and gather details of his/her condition. Possibly your grandchild was an innocent victim of abuse or of a crime: police reports and witnesses provide answers. But that's not the 'Why?' we grapple with following a death. |
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