(Time for me to process again… read if you’d like, but understand, these are my thoughts, my feelings, my emotions… not a rant, not a persuasion, not a diatribe and not really an “explanation” to anyone but myself I’m not looking for validation, agreement, discourse or corrections… this is, what it is, it is no more, no less) (Oh, it’s gonna be a long one, so if your gonna read.. grab some coffee.. and maybe some tissues

I was seven when my Grandma Christoff died.  I remember it quite vividly. Not the details, or the particulars of the funeral or what have you, so much as the feelings.  I remember the service was the most painful place I could be.  It was like I could feel each and every heart in that church breaking.  I know this post isn’t about grandma, but it’s important for how I’ve come to my decisions.

Being that I was seven, I had cycled through enough pets already to understand that death was a forever, permanent, nothing gonna change it type of situation. I understood that people went to Heaven to be with Jesus and it was a wonderful and glorious thing.  That Heaven was a joyous safe place.  But still, even at seven, the thought of my grandma lying buried underground, well, freaked me out. I struggled with the separation of the soul and the body, even though I was very certain they were two separate things.  It was still just… well, just so hard to wrap my mind around.  I actually envisioned what would happen to my grandma… and I’m sure that’s what freaked me out the most.  I think part of it is that this was my first exposure to human death, and my relationship with my grandmother was long distance.  She lived in Ohio, we lived in Oregon.  For me, most of our relationship was through pictures, cards, gifts and only the occasional visit. Traveling after all was quite expensive.  So, really the image of my grandma was what I had the most of… so, for her “image” or body to be buried, well… yeah,  you see what I’m getting at?

I’ve struggled a great deal with my daughters in how to handle the death of my mom.  Two of my three knew their Mimi VERY well.  They love her very much.  They miss her every day.  So, how to explain things to a two year old and a four year old, even though they are two of the smartest 2 and 4 year olds I know J

When my Grandma Florence was 88 years old we had all gathered for her birthday, we had all gathered in Ohio a big birthday celebration.  After the party we were gathered in her tiny little living room, all gabbing away, and she asked me to file her nails like I so enjoyed doing for her. It was something I had started to do in those last years when my mom would go back and take me with her. As I was filing away she looked about the room and said “well, I guess the next time we’ll all be gathered like this again will be for my funeral.” And she gave her mischievous chuckle and grin I miss so much.  I of course being who I am, said “Gran, don’t talk like that! You’ve got lots of good years left!”  Fact of the matter was, she was ready to go. She’d been without her husband for what? 30 years? Her body was failing and ailing her and she was at peace and ready, just waiting for her time to dance with Grandpa once more in Heaven.  So much so she proceeded to explain to me the beautiful casket she picked out and everything “I’ve got it all planned already”.  All with a smile on her face.  Still remembering how painful it was to sit through Grandma Christoff’s funeral, I told my Grandma Florence “Grandma, I love you, but I can’t go to funerals, it’s too painful. I don’t think I’m going to be at yours, but I’ll visit your grave later if you want.”  She chuckled and with all sincerity said “I don’t care if you go or not! I’m not gonna be there!”  It was so nice having her “permission.” As it turned out the Lord took that decision from me, when he called Grandma Florence home while I was still living in Latvia.  I was able however to send a tribute for the pastor to be read, as my way of honoring Grandma at her service, without actually being there.  When I told my mom about that discussion I’d had at Grandma’s 88^th with her, mom said “well, you know, I don’t care if you come to mine either, but it’s important that you say good bye somehow, grieve, and move on.”  Never thought I’d be facing that this soon in life, or deciding how best to handle it with my daughters either.

So, here’s what I believe. Funerals, memorials, Cemeteries and monuments are not really for the dead. The dead are no longer with us. They are for the living.  My girls get that, they know that Mimi is in Heaven. They have no doubts and they don’t seem to need much explanation of that. They’ve never once questioned that “all of her” was there. I’m ok with leaving it that way for the time being. I’m sure in time we’ll have pets, and the questions will come… but why enter into that discussion when there’s really no need.

In light of all that, I asked Sam if we could take our time figuring out how to talk to the kids about what happened. He’s such a wonderful man.  Thankfully his siblings took the kids for the first night or two after mom passed and let us come get them later.  It afforded us the time to discus it, and the time for me to grieve with as much abandon as King David! (Thanks sibs by the way, if you’re reading this! Don’t know if I ever thanked you proper!)

I thought about explaining that the body is like a balloon, and the soul is like the special gas that goes inside.  Helium or Oxygen are what make the balloon what it is… some special gas makes a balloon float, some special gas just makes the balloon puffed up and bouncy, other kinds of gas would make the balloon heavy enough to sink to the ground much faster and not be tossed in the wind (sorry Mr. Andres, but I forgot what that gas was you taught us).  But when the special gas leaves the balloon, you are left with just a useless shriveled rubber “shell” that disintegrates with time (especially if one leaves said shell on the dash of a hot car… but I digress).   Sorta makes sense to an adult, but will it really “land” with kids?  I just don’t know.  I know that they will survive, no matter how I explain it to them, so long as how I explain it is still honest.

So, for better or for worse, after discussing it with Sam on a much less “factual” based explanation, and more of a “truth of the matter” version.

Mimi is in Heaven(period).  She can’t come back and she is very happy, and safe and misses us. We will miss her, but we will see her again some day.

The memorial service which we called Mimi’s Service for the girls we explained as a church time for everyone who loved Mimi to come, talk about her, think about how wonderful she was, and thank Jesus that she is happy with Him in Heaven. It is ok for us to be sad that we wont see her for a long time, and it’s ok for us to miss her, but we are happy for her.  The girls have been great at this part (probably better than me, for sure. Most of the time I just want my mom back! Selfishly I would yank her back from Heaven for another 10-15 years at least!).

All was well. We were getting on quite well. But the girls have been missing Mimi a lot of late.  Especially, little Ziva.

It just so happened that Dad was wondering if I wanted to go up to Adams Cemetery with him and help figure out the headstone situation… and “why don’t you bring the girls, I think it would be good for them.”  I was finally ready.

So today we headed up to Adams. Since it had just been Memorial Day I had explained to the girls about the holiday and that cemeteries are decorated to remember those who died in wars trying to help people. So there was already a vague understanding of cemetaries.

In explaining further I decided that since they and the monuments that stand there are for the Living, that I could keep it that way for now, until the girls are older.  So I explained that we were going to go up to the cemetery and that it was a place full of Remembering Stones.  Stones that are placed for someone who died so their loved ones can come to remember them.  This was something that it seems my 2 and 4 year olds seemed to understand. I asked them if they would like to go out to the garden (back yard) and pick some flowers to put at Mimi’s remembering place, since her Remembering Stone wasn’t there yet… they were SO excited to do that.

Strangely, the girls had fun walking amongst the Remembering Stones and pondering the people for whom they were placed to remember.  Many of the stones in that area are sadly for young children.  Vienna was quite curious as to why there were dump trucks and toys around one particular stone.  I explained that sometimes people take things to the Remembering Places and leave them there.  Things that remind them of the person, or things the person would have liked, just as a way to honor that person and express how much they miss that person and can’t wait to see them in heaven.  She seemed ok with that, and we walked about a bit and she asked me who’s stone this one was, who’s stone that one was, who do you think left the little crosses?  It was quite interesting to see the way a little mind processes such things.

We went with my dad to order the monument, or at least to get a mock up of what he thought he would like. We showed the girls the pretty stone that it would be made out of, and the pictures that would be on it and everything.  I really like what Dad has chosen. We’ll see what the mock up looks like soon.

As we were getting ready to leave Vienna asked if we could go right over and pick up Mimi’s Remembering Stone! (No moss grows on that girl).  But we explained we had to wait for the artist to create it first.  She was a little disappointed, but moved right on.

When we got home, had lunch and were getting ready to head to nap she said “I’m so glad that Mimi will have a lovely Remembering Stone.” It will be nice to go and remember her there.

Remember her! Yes! Not mourn her (though that is certainly part of the process) not to hold her in the grave and be near the shell that used to be her, but a place for us to remember the woman we loved sooo dearly, and will miss so much.

“I’m so glad that Mimi will have a lovely Remembering Stone.”

Me too baby… me too!