The Spaces In Between

This week has been busy. Huge. Emotionally exhausting. But even though we have been tested beyond what we have experienced before, even though we are all scrambling to establish our own hectic, must-do schedules - there have been moments of reflection, peace, and sometimes a little sadness in between. Moments that remind us to take the time to appreciate our surroundings and the people we love.



Sunday we awoke to a world shrouded in gray, rain falling from clouds as heavy as our own hearts. How appropriate. Grandma would have loved it. There were many shared thoughts, stories and emotions as we prepared to gather as a family to say goodbye. We were hurting in ways we had not experienced before and we held each other up as the day went on.

Just before we left the house, I had the girls stop so I could take their picture. They posed for their mom in spite of how they felt, and even worked up smiles for the camera. Another moment in time, alone with my girls.



Saying goodbye is never easy...



To say our emotions were all over the map would be an understatement. Sunday and Monday we cried, hugged, laughed, loved, sobbed, ached, and gave thanks for the most beautiful and perfect woman any of us ever have -or ever will know.

And we said goodbye.... For the last time.



I didn't take pictures of Bill on either of those days, but I wish I would have. He is my strength, my rock. When I was breaking down, he stood beside me - comforting me and loving me. He never left my side. He was there for our girls and for my extended family as well...offering his love and support. He is truly an amazing man.

The girls missed their first day of school on Monday as we said goodbye to Grandma, and Bill also took the day off. None of us ever gave it a second thought. We were where we needed to be. My family. My love, strength and happiness.



My heart still hurts, and I know now that it always will. I knew as we drove away that I was leaving part of myself behind. We will never get over her passing, never forget her, and there will never be another like her. Our challenge now is to learn to live with the empty space in our lives where she used to be. We talk to her every day, surrounding ourselves with the things she would love... family, music, flowers.. and love.

"Clock's still ticking, life moves on.. the radio still plays a song.. I guess the world didn't stop, for my broken heart.."



The girls started school on Tuesday - Bill and I went back to work. I began the daunting task of trying to catch up one day before the kids returned to Venture. Every now and then, I had to close my office door so I could hide the tears that came over me suddenly. "Normal" had changed, and I was working to adjust.

My girls and school are like peas and carrots. (wink and a nod to Forrest Gump) They go together perfectly. I know that the girls enjoy school and I am happy that they are back in the routines that they love. Every year I look forward to watching them learn and grow. I may not follow them to school with a camera, but I watch carefully as they drive away, and I think of them as the school bus approaches. They grow up too quickly -My little women.



My days continue at a frantic pace, and the girls are getting busier each day as well. As my calendar fills up with various "To Do's" and as I fall asleep (usually sitting up) each night, I know that life goes on... it is the spaces in between that have changed forever.

The quiet moments at the end of the day are filled with gratitude for all life's blessings. Family, Home, Heritage, Love, Dreams, Music, Art, Laughter, and even Tears. For all of this and more, we are forever grateful and will never forget.

From the Heart

Last summer Bill and I didn't get to take the girls camping because I wasn't working and we were carefully, painstakingly watching every penny. It was a long, boring and sad summer for the kids but throughout it all, my girls were so self-sacrificing and kind to their stressed-out Mama Bear, so I promised the girls that we would go to Flaming Gorge this year to make up for it. We have been to the Gorge before and so we know that there is ONE PERFECT CAMPSITE THAT WE MUST HAVE.. all other campsites pale in comparison to our favorite site. This perfect campsite is difficult to reserve so I had book our trip back in February to guarantee that we could reserve it. Trust me when I say that the anticipation of that trip is what kept us from strangling each other throughout the long winter and wet spring. We were literally counting the days until our camping / boating trip to Flaming Gorge!

Then Grandma got sick and everything changed.

As Grandma's health continued to deteriorate, and every single moment became even more precious than the last, we became increasingly uncomfortable with leaving at all, let alone going on a "fun" camping trip. For me it was never about losing the money if we canceled our reservation. I could not bear the thought of losing my Grandma while we were out "having fun" and while my mom was back at home, her heart breaking every day. What I cared about was doing the right thing... the best thing... and no one could tell me what the right thing was. I agonized over the decision for weeks until finally, with two days left to decide, my mom talked us into going by assuring me that everything would be the same when we got back.

I had been visiting Grandma and Grandpa at least once a week, but prior to leaving for The Gorge I stopped by every day after work. I felt compelled to be there, to hold Grandma's hand and just be near her. She was always so cute, working hard to smile and laugh while I was there in spite of her own discomfort. I simply cannot express how beautiful her spirit is. Grandma was always concerned about how I was doing and she never failed to ask about the girls. As I held her hand, I remember marveling over how it felt smooth and cool as marble, yet velvety soft and perfectly delicate. Grandma's hands seemed so tiny and I suppose they always have been, but if you have ever heard her play the piano - you would immediately visualize her hands as strong and as powerful as her music. As I cradled Grandma's hand in my own, I studied the thin, gold band on her finger and committed the image to memory. I will never forget the beautiful music she played, the cute way she gripped her umbrella during a Boston storm, and the way she always folded her hands across her lap in the car. I know there are many pictures in existence that will show my grandma's hands, but the image of her hand in my own is the one I will forever cherish.


I told Carley recently that I now understand, with perfect clarity, the expression "choking back tears" because every time I left my grandma's house I struggled to breathe and literally felt like I was choking. In fact, if any one saw me driving home, I'm sure they must have stared in shock at the woman sobbing hysterically behind the wheel. I am a cryer - I always have been and I always will be. And let me further explain that when I am emotionally charged up, I don't cry silently.. oh no.. that would be too easy! Instead, when I cry there is this unfair chain of events that begins with an immediate changing of the color of my nose. What is that about? Even before my tear ducts think about warming up, my nose turns an alarming and unmistakable shade of red! A person with teary eyes can easily lie and claim allergies, but a RED NOSE? What lie could I possibly spin about that? "Uh yeah, I thought that the kids would be very impressed if I could imitate Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer for Christmas this year so I have been practicing. Would you like to play some Reindeer Games?" I somehow don't think anyone would buy it. Soon after the nose color change, the sniffles set in and are immediately followed by uncontrollable sobs that sound like I'm attempting to swallow a family of tree frogs. That about sums it up.. when I cry, I become the Red Nosed-Sniffling-Tree Frog Swallower! As you can imagine, this spectacle is very difficult to hide or control.

But for the first time in my life, I felt the overwhelming importance of holding back the tears because I didn't want to upset Grandma by openly bawling in front of her. During my last visit with Grandma, I was almost grateful that I was only allowed a short time with her because the pain in my chest was absolute agony. I struggled to control my emotions as I kept silently reminding myself to breathe. After sitting by Grandma's side and holding her velvety-cool hand, I stood and kissed her on the forehead. My parting words to her were, "Grandma, I love you so much." To which she replied, "I love you so much too. And please tell the girls how much I love each of them." Those are mighty powerful and wonderfully precious parting words, and on the way home I sobbed harder than I ever have in my life. Two days later, my mom and her siblings decided that they could no longer allow visitors because it was too painful and taxing for Grandma. I have to remind myself now to be at peace and hold those parting words, like a talisman, in my heart forever.

I will write about our trip The Gorge soon, for now I need to do my best to hide my Rudolph-Red nose and get back to work.

Laughter and Tears

Linzie had a doctor appointment Tuesday afternoon, and because it was literally right around the corner from Grandma and Grandpa Robinson's house, we weren't about to miss an opportunity to spend some time with them. When Carley learned of our intentions, she didn't hesitate to tag along. Smart girl. (Sweet, loving and sensitive girl.)

Grandma seemed to be having a better day than the last time we had visited and that made me very happy. However, these visits are always unbearably painful because there is no possibility for a happy ending. It lifted my heart to hear that Grandma's voice was strong, her thoughts lucid and her laughter was music to my ears...and suddenly I found myself wanting to cling to her as a child would, and beg her not to go. But the truly heart-wrenching moment was when my Aunt Dorothy told me that she had something she wanted to share with us, and when she hit the play button on the tape recorder... my Grandma's sweet voice unexpectedly filled the cozy room with a beautiful (and searingly painful) song accompanied by her own gifted fingers expertly playing her piano.

Here’s a little song to help you get along.
It will see you through when you’re feeling blue.
And though it’s not profound when you’re feeling down, so down,
Sing this little tune, and you’ll feel better soon.
You’re not alone, even when you’re feeling on your own,
You are loved in ways that can’t be shown; your needs are known;
You’re not alone.
And when you cry, you’re just letting go of heartache deep inside,
And tomorrow there’ll be sunshine and sky and love close by;
You’re not alone.
And we know that it’s not easy, but we know that it won’t last,
’cause one that loves you more than me is sending blessings fast.
You’re not alone, say it one more time,
“I’m not alone,”
And even when it’s hard to find the words, our prayers are heard;
We’re not alone.
You’re not alone.

The song was immediately followed by another recording, equally haunting, of my Grandma playing her piano and singing along to "As I have Loved You." I struggled unsuccessfully to contain my tears as I heard Mom softly singing along, and my heart broke as I saw my mom and my aunt, weeping silently as they gazed at their fragile mother with such tremendous and perfect love. Even my sweet Grandma cried tears of her own as she listened to her music and confessed that she could not recall when she had made that recording. That achingly beautiful moment in my Grandmother's living room is undoubtedly the most precious and profound experience of my life... and I'd give it all back in a heartbeat if it could somehow be traded for more time with her.

I learned that day that Grandma and Grandpa have Wisteria planted along their front porch. How could I not know this? Wisteria has always been my favorite flower and I have several young Wisteria plants of my own at home. Mom told us that they were stunned to see that the Wisteria had started a second bloom the other day.. something that vine has never done before. My mom told us that together they were able to carefully maneuver to the porch to view the delicate purple flowers as the morning sun peeked over the mountaintop. She described it to me as a perfect moment, one that I am so glad she shared with us.

The more I think about that Wisteria vine, the more I like to think that it could be a simple message of hope to those of us who are holding on so tightly - out of love, sadness and even desperate fear of losing those we love... I can imagine that message being something along the lines of , "Have faith that all things will be right again, because even as cherished blooms fade, there are other wondrous blessings in store as long as we remember to keep our eyes open for them."

We also laughed that day as we reminisced about the past, and we teased Mom and Dorothy about how silly they are whenever they get together. Remembering to laugh... that's the hardest thing to do right now because "normal" has changed and it would be so easy to give in to the sadness, but that would not honor Grandma's graceful spirit. So we try to grieve sparingly and cherish each and every moment we have right now.

Funny Moment of the Day:

Carley: "Abby and Linzie have always been opposite in everything they do. But they are the same because of it..that they are opposite makes them the same."

(Linzie and I giggled as we exchanged puzzled looks.)

Linzie: "That doesn't make any sense!"

Carley: "Shut up Linzie, you're making me sound stupid."

Linzie: (laughing)"I'm not the one talking!"