I Didn't Help With Arrangements and It's Finally OK - Moving Ahead on My Grief Journey

In my last post, I briefly wrote about my friend whose daughter is fighting a losing battle with cancer.  Despite her busyness in preparing for the unavoidable, she found time to call me last week and our conversation brought back some memories and feelings that nudge me to write about them.  It's another one of those days.

When Kitty died, I wanted to help Mandy and son-in-law with as much as possible, including the funeral planning.  I never told them that I wanted to be involved, they never asked and they made every decision on their own - without advice or opinions.  But, I had secretly hoped that, even though they didn't need it, they would want my input. 

Kitty's visitation, service and burial were all beautiful and charming, of course.  I would not have changed a thing. 

It's so odd what you remember, though.  I recall Mandy saying to me, "Wait until you see what I'm going to wear."  She had a not-too-bright, medium color pink suit, a jacket and skirt from her college days, that she pulled from the back of her closet.  The rest of the family was asked to wear something pink.  Son-in-law was concerned that his bright pink tie was too bold against the starkness of his black shirt and suit.  I must say, the pink did not go unnoticed.  Mourners recognized and understood the visual display of Mandy's hope that life would go on with added purpose and a rediscovery of happiness.  Unusual, yes.  Meaningful and appropriate, definitely.  

Now, my friend is describing details of her daughter's funeral plans.  As awful as this sounds, I feel a wee bit of envy in her planning with her child when I didn't have the opportunity to help Mandy plan for my granddaughter.  Yet, I do realize that the circumstances are completely different - a living adult child vs. a deceased infant grandchild.  I am not Kitty's mother.  My friend will bury her daughter, not her grandchild.

I also remember a passage I read awhile back while doing my personal grief work - planning your child's funeral is the last outward act of love you can do for them.   A couple of years after the fact, that put my role into perspective.  There was good reason I didn't participate in Kitty's burial arrangements.  It was something I needed to let my daughter do ... with her husband ... for their child. 

While I don't think it is completely true that making arrangements is the last act of love you can demonstrate for a deceased loved one, I do imagine that is how I might feel if I lost one of my children.  It is possibly the last thing you can do for them in this world to outwardly show your love. 
 
While I may not have had a hand in planning Kitty's funeral, I'm OK with it now.  I've worked through that piece of my grief journey.  And, I do believe that as her grandparent, there are more appropriate, special and loving things I can - and will continue to - do for my Kitty Rose. 
The list goes like this:  
*  be available to Mandy, son-in-law, Belle, the Dasher and the Basher when help is requested/needed
*  volunteer and donate in Kitty's memory
*  visit and tend her gravesite
*  share Kitty's story to advocate for ice safety
*  talk about Kitty to keep her always present
*  cherish my memories of her
*  pray for her and the repose of her soul

Finally, I can wear pink as a display of Mandy's hope.  It is the hope that life can and will move forward with added purpose, rediscovered joy and abundant love.

Amen.