Sharing the Story of Our Grandchild - Our Choice, Our Terms

Last Friday provided a beautiful September afternoon and, trying to make the most of what nice weather remains this year, I loaded the Dasher and the Basher into the double stroller and we headed to the park.  Being a school day, there were no other children in the play area.  I was pleased there were no older boys and girls to tempt Dasher onto the playground equipment intended for 5 - 12-year-olds.  It would be all I could handle to keep my eye on her in the 'little kid' section while feeding Basher his bottle.

After a short time, a group of about a dozen women pulled into the parking lot.  I called out to Dasher to stay on the grass and to not wander down on the path towards the cars.  As the group walked past her, I heard Dasher greet them with a loud and enthusiastic "hi".   I'm not sure if she thought they might play with her or if they had something planned that she would be interested in watching ... and later imitating.

After chatting in the pavilion, the women began circling the walking paths and as they returned,  some started kicking a soccer ball.  Others went back to the covered picnic tables.  Two of them got on the swings.  They chose swings that happened to be on either side of the baby swing - the one with the safety seat for small tykes like my Dasher.  Of course, after the pair began to pump their legs, she wanted to join in.

So, I lifted the Dasher into the baby swing and gave her a gentle push.  It would have been very uncomfortable not to say something to the women on either side of my very pleased granddaughter.  It felt natural to start a conversation.  One of the women was quite young - too old to be in high school, but not yet middle aged.  The other told me that she has one grandchild and proceeded to ask the number of my little grands. 

I started the litany ... I have nine.  The eldest a 12-year-old step-granddaughter, two 6-year-olds, three 4-year-olds, Dasher, Basher and one on the way.

For the first time in 45 months, I did not mention that one of the 4-year-olds was deceased.
 
At that given moment, I didn't want to talk about Kitty.  Why would strangers care or be interested?  Why would I want to talk about her death with two people who couldn't have possibly understood what it felt like to lose a grandchild?  It would have prompted more questions that I simply did not want to answer on a gorgeous Friday afternoon at the park.

It wasn't until later, while thinking about my day with the kiddos, that I went into a mild bout of panic - never before had I omitted Kitty's death while rattling off the number or names of my grandchildren.  I did count her, she wasn't left out.  But, what was wrong with me?  I felt a twinge of guilt for not wanting to talk about her death and to answer the questions I knew would ensue. 

I took a breath and gave myself time to settle. 
I needed to remember that Just because you have times when you don't want to delve into details, doesn't mean that you've forgotten your grandchild or their death.  At Kitty's visitation and funeral, I remember worrying that years down the road, I might forget what she looked like.  The idea scared me.  Now I am certain that won't happen.  My memories and love for her are too strong.   

Not wanting to tell the women on the swings that I have a deceased granddaughter sent me back 45 months to the same feeling I had during Kitty's services.  Only instead of not remembering how she looked, the frightening thought was, 'what if I stop talking about Kitty?'

I had one encounter with two strangers that brought me back to the reality of how very important it is to tell others about my granddaughter.  The story of her death and the lifesaving message it sends to others is part of her legacy.  I know that I will always talk about her ... on my terms, when the time is right.

Whether I'm writing or talking, expression keeps Kitty close, alive in my heart and my memory.  She is - and will always be - too precious to forget.

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