Grave robbers

I wonder at times if we’re setting ourselves up for a repeat of last year, but instead, instead of a long pause between the death and the funeral like last year, now we’re having a long break between the anniversary of the death and the day we have the gravestone set up.

And that’s not to say that was a bad thing. I think there was a lot to say for having the month together as a family of four before we committed ourselves to the funeral ceremony. It wasn’t all fun, but it gave us time to ease into the new situation. Because, in the end, it isn’t a moment in time, it’s a process that’s going to weigh on us forever.

Case in point, I mentioned in the last week that there had been a lot of bracing for September 17, like that was the day I was worried we were all going to fall apart. But nothing really happened that day. It was the week before where I felt things were starting to creak at the seams, where one member of the family after another got sick and it was hard to tell – without accusing anyone of faking illness – whether the ailments were physical or mental. Both are valid, but it’s terra incognita trying to figure out if a child has an actual stomach ailment or if thoughts kicking around in his or her head are causing stomach upset. They are different and each requires a different approach.

Suffice to say, about three days before the anniversary, I thought we would hit that day with most of us unable to roust ourselves out of bed. And then the day came and it was more normal than I could have ever expected.

But now comes the lead up to the gravestone’s arrival, which has its own sense of foreboding. I don’t know if they’re doing it because we wanted it or if they were going to do it anyways, but the staff at the graveyard is doing some landscaping around his grave, trying to level the earth. At the end of the day, their motivation doesn’t matter, it will make it easier to erect a gravestone and tend to the grave. The downside is that all the plants Christina has laid down in the last year are probably going to die in the process.

Knowing that, she and I went back yesterday and pulled out as much as we could. The plan being to plant it in our yard for the time being and then return it to the graveyard when things are settled there. I don’t know much about plants, but it seems to me that we’re going to have a high loss ratio here. Still, it’s worth the try.

But what struck me about the project was the family’s lack of interest in it. I can’t say if Christina wanted to go or not, but she was the force driving us there. I won’t lie: When I woke up yesterday, the forecast was for rain all day and I was pretty happy that it meant we probably couldn’t make it out to the graveyard. And then I was sad when the forecast changed and it meant we could go. But the kids went through a series of excuses about not going until we got to the truth of it: There’s not a lot of interest in going to the grave because, not surprisingly, it’s a bad memory.

And then you’re left wondering as a parent, am I doing my job better if I protect them from the bad memories or if I force them to deal with the memories now, rather than letting them accumulate for the next decade or so? I have no idea. The hospice has a grief therapy group for kids, separate from their climbing group, and we’re talking more not about how we have to get Emma and Noah signed up.

But then I look at that and wonder what I’m doing myself. My therapist says I should look into trying things on my own. Several friends make valid points that maybe that’s not the best idea. I don’t know. I’m not going to my men’s group because I’m too nervous about the coronavirus. That said, I went through my phone and cleared out a ton of photos (they’re all backed up on the laptop) so I could have a little more space there. Deleting photos of Colin is hard, even if I know I still have them as a backup. Let me amend that. Deleting good photos of Colin was hard. Deleting photos from our 2016 stay in the hospital actually felt kind of good.

So, here we are. A garden full of plants that we airlifted out of the graveyard, a gravestone on the way, everyone attending work and school and still no idea how we do this for the long haul. It feels like grief in a nutshell.