Another Goodbye

    Dear Jeremy,

    The rain drizzles on this cold March day. Inside our cozy home, I'm cuddled in a soft blanket with my computer in my lap and an ache in my chest. Four and a half months ago, we lost you. A month and a half ago, your great-grandpa followed. I've often wondered at the timing. Grandpa had been declining for the last five years, but very rapidly since the summer. Did he wait for his 90th birthday? Did he wait until he knew that his family was all taken care of? Are you and Grandpa dancing together now? 

    You two had such a special bond. There were a lot of people involved in your care, but Grandpa was instrumental for a season, especially when your sisters were younger and we didn't have the nursing coverage we should have had.

I miss you, Jer-Bear. I miss Grandpa. I miss the way things used to be--before covid, before Grandpa's first fall. I miss the way we took things for granted, and even though we knew your time (and Grandpa's as he was getting older) was limited, we thought we had years and years ahead of us. I miss the problems I thought were problems. 

I look back on photos, even those from the last year, and wish to go back to that time--before you left. We thought you had time. We were prepared for you to grow up--even though you were already starting to look like a little man at thirteen. I was prepared to be your Mama, your caretaker, for all the years you lived after eighteen. I was prepared to never be an empty-nester. You were so strong and beat so many odds for so many years that it just didn't seem possible that you would go off to school one morning and never come home.

I was not prepared for that.

I was not ready to let go.

How do I let go?

How do I say goodbye?

    We finalized your headstone at the same time as Grandpa's (and Grandma's) headstone. Grandpa lies kiddy-corner to you, and we designed the headstones with the Sano family flower--so all can know that you are connected.

On Sunday, Grandpa's marker came in, and as a family, we all went to place it. As soon as the car stopped, River jumped out and ran to your marker. She misses you. So does Zuri, but she handles her grief differently. She won't go into your room or come to the cemetery--but I hope with time that will change. 

We miss you and we miss Grandpa. Nothing is the same. We are trying to adapt to life without you, but it is hard. One day at a time; it's all we can do.