Waves

I don't plan these posts. They just happen. A thought, a single sentence will pop into my head, or maybe just a word. If I'm in front of the computer, which is usually the case about 80% of the time, I just open up the blog and start typing, just to see what comes out. So the word for today is waves.

In reference to grief - it comes in waves. Remembering our family trips to Santa Cruz when I was a kid, we'd load up the 1966 Buick station wagon in the early morning and head over Highway 17. After unloading coolers, blankets, and food, shivering in sweatshirts, the typical overcast would recede and the sun would gradually warm the air. Eventually, after my sister and I tired of torturing sand crabs or melting styrofoam cups in the fire (yes, we actually did this), we'd strip to our swimsuits and run into the surf.

My favorite thing to do was stand in one place and watch the sand gradually cover my feet as the waves washed in on the beach. I remember feeling dizzy on the drive home as I would close my eyes and still be able to feel the surf. Grief is like this. If I am not paying attention and let my mind go quiet, sometimes it will hit me. Like waking up and realizing that no, there is not an adorable puppy sleeping on my bed, and there is no whack of a tiny tail on the down comforter when I say her name. Wave splashes over my head. I gasp for air as tears slide down my face.

I remember seeing a counselor as I dealt with the end of my marriage. "You're grieving", she said. I insisted that nobody had died, but then realized that a part of me had. We were unable to have kids, and even though I'm totally okay with that now, it made sense back then to grieve the child that never had a chance to be born, to grieve the parent I will never be. Maybe that explains why I have so much extra love to give.

This brings me to a conversation I had yesterday with a child. During our regular speedskating practice, between two sessions of a special introductory "learn to speedskate" clinic, I got on the ice to skate with the kids. They are the sweetest, happiest kids I've ever met. I don't recall hearing any of them complain, and every single time I see them, I get a hug from each one and a thank you for the cookies or brownies I brought that day. So here's my conversation with Gavin:

Gavin: are you a grandma?
Me: No
Gavin: Are you a mom?
Me: No
Gavin: Are you an aunt?
Me: Yes
Gavin: Did you ever get married?
Me: Yes
Gavin: Did you have any kids?
Me: No
Gavin: Why?
Me: I guess we ... forgot
Gavin: Oh.

He skated off, smiling and apparently satisfied with my answers. Now if that conversation had been with an adult, it would have been entirely different. Oh, the innocence of youth. So accepting, so non-judgemental. Here is a kid, maybe oh, 7 years old, who was perfectly okay with the answers he'd been given to the questions of his inquiring mind. He was simply relating his world, one of mom, dad, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins, to this woman who brings us cookies at speedskating practice.

Only I know the sadness behind my answers, the years of accepting my role as a single person in a world of couples and families. But I had to at least be proud that my answers were just a simple yes or no, as nothing more needed to be said. If only it were that simple! If only I could give myself that big, happy, dimpled smile, just for being who I am.