I could hear the screaming long before I entered the house. The familiar cries of my four-year-old niece were taking on an unfamiliar intensity, and I knew without knowing that she’d figured it out.
My grandpa - a strong and meek man, a powerful and humble man, a wise and gentle man - had died three days before. There had been a constant parade of family and friends through my grandma’s house since, and Ashlyn and her little sister, Hannah, had spent long hours playing with toys, diverting attention, traipsing outside with the cousins, and generally going about life.
As I opened the door and walked into the house, the volume of the screams increased. I noticed my brother and sister-in-law, hopelessly negotiating, soothing, and parenting in the kitchen, where Ashlyn was sprawled, unconsolable. My aunt welcomed me with a hug, and my eyes asked the questions. As she hugged me, she whispered, “Ashlyn realized today that she doesn’t get to see Grandpa anymore. She’s been in meltdown mode ever since.”
In that moment, my heart swelled with compassion even as my eyes filled with tears. I hadn’t even imagined how her little mind would wrap around the reality of tangible death. She had been Grandpa’s buddy. Long after the rest of us shied away shamefully in the last months of his life, feeling awkward and sad because the process of loss was too real to us, she’d cozy up next to him and tell him all about her day, her family, her life. He’d listen with joy and rapt attention to the details of her existence. I knew those moments meant everything to him, but I hadn’t thought about what they’d been for her.
As grown ups, we had all of the coping mechanisms. We knew how to talk about our feelings, how to rely on each other for support, and how to look toward Heaven. Ashlyn experienced grief in its truest and most intense form. She didn’t know what her feelings were. She didn’t know how to talk about what was inside. She couldn’t write a poem, sing a favorite song, or even slip away for some solitude. She certainly didn’t understand heaven - all she knew was that she wanted her grandpa, and she couldn’t have him. So, she sat on the kitchen floor and cried.
As I’ve been thinking about my sweet niece and how raw and true her response was, I’ve been overwhelmed with emotions. I’m so touched by the sweetness of her sadness. While the rest of us busied our hands and comforted our hearts, she gave way to the struggles going on inside of her.
I’m excited for her to learn more about Heaven, and for her to one day be Grandpa’s buddy there, too.
But mostly, I’m overwhelmed by the truth of grief. While maybe it gets easier as we get older - as we learn about hope, and we take comfort in the future - I think there’s still a part inside all of us that wants to just sit on the kitchen floor and cry.
And then maybe have a nice bowl of ice-cream.
Carla, this post is extremely pure and such a good perspective. My grandpa passed about a month ago and it was so much Moe difficult to explain it to my little boys. However, their young perspectives are so close to what God and his pure form. Thank you for sharing! Prayers!
We will all miss him. I was painting a picture around the time he passed away. It is called transformations. You can see it here… http://thisartistsjourney.blogspot.com/2009/03/transformations-watercolor.html
Your Grandpa listened to everyone as he listened to Ashlyn. He was interested in the lives of other people. That is what made him such a special person. He had a gift of wisdom and of words.