Some days the words just flow out of my fingers, as if someone else is making my fingers move.  On other days, like today, I feel stuck.   I know this is common.  Anyone who has ever written anything talks about writer’s block, imposter syndrome, or the need to clean your desk and file your taxes instead of writing. 

Today I’m tired.  It’s the bone weariness of grief that I’ve been carrying around since the end of January while trying to keep everything afloat for my family.  You see, my mother-in-law was diagnosed with cancer at the end of January and passed three and half weeks later.  One second she was here, and the next she was gone.  Or at least that is how it feels.   We are all happy she didn’t suffer, and we know how lucky we are that it wasn’t a car accident or some other sudden event that wouldn’t allow us all to say our goodbyes.  Still, the loss is a big gaping hole in all our lives. 

I held it together at home so my husband could be present with his mother and his sisters.  I ordered the funeral suits, notified the teachers, made sure the schoolwork was completed, and held my children while they cried.   I rubbed her legs, arms, and head as we sat by her bedside on our last weekend with her before she passed.  I found a stuffed animal horse that my son insisted his father bring to his grandmother when he first heard she was sick.  When the hospital lost that one, I quickly ran out to replace it.   I found a cozy blanket in a beautiful dark purple color that she would like and sent that with my husband.  She was a big reader, and my first instinct was to find a book until I realized that she was too sick to read and that the topics were all inappropriate for someone who was dying.  Even then magazines seemed frivolous.  Who cares about “the best color for your bedroom” or “great places to travel in 24” when you are dying?   There was nothing that I could find that would be remotely appropriate. 

When we got up there to visit, time did its thing – slowed down and sped up, as it does when you are in a hospital—hours passed in what felt like a minute.  You look up and realize that you’re hungry only to discover that you missed not one, but two meals.

We shuffled in and out of her room because it didn’t have enough space for all of us.   Those of us from out of town traveled to be there on the same weekend, which was nice for my boys to have their older cousins with them.   What a testament to what a wonderful mother, grandmother, and mother-in-law she was to all of us.   We huddled together in the lobby when not in the room sharing snacks, stories, and laughs.   It was hard to leave at the end of each day, but it was a comfort staying with family, and being together helped us maneuver the utter disbelief and shock we were all experiencing. 

The hardest part has been watching my children mourn her loss.  I know what it feels like to lose a beloved grandmother, but I was an adult when both of mine passed, which somehow made it easier, or at least that’s how it feels. I don’t want them to feel unnecessary sadness and yet the depth of pain they’re feeling is the depth of love she had for them and that is a gift.

I’ve picked up the phone countless times over the past few months to share something funny or talk about a book I’m reading that I know she’d love.  Like my children, I was lucky.  Not everyone gets along with their mother-in-law like I did with mine.  She treated me like one of her own.    We had much in common – the love for her son and grandchildren, the love of books, and the fact that we could and would talk to just about anyone.  She spent weeks with us when both my boys were born, taking care of all of us.   She yelled at the nurses when they tried to get me out of bed too soon after my c-section and when the lactation consultant came in to impart her wisdom, she told her “If breastfeeding was so easy, you wouldn’t have a job.  Give her a break!”

We bonded quite a bit over the years.  She made it a point to be in town for both boys’ birthdays yearly.  She read to their preschool classes, and attended every special event, even though we lived several states away.   Alicia was easy to talk to and my friends would come over to hang out with her when she was in town.   She advised one friend on her wedding hairdo and picked bridesmaid dresses for another.   One friend canceled her date night and came over to have dinner with my mother-in-law when we were out of town.    Many of these friends made the trip north for her funeral. 

I’m having a hard time putting into words all that she meant to me, perhaps because the grief is still raw.  I miss having her in my corner.  I miss calling her and telling her the ridiculous and charming things that the boys do.  She loved them and was as proud of them as we are.  I miss her laugh.  As we rounded the corner towards Mother’s Day this year, her loss felt no more magnified than it has every day since she’s been gone.  These Hallmark holidays miss the point that it’s the day-to-day that matters, and that is how she showed up for all of us.  I miss her and I am grateful that I had her in my life for 20 years.