My youngest is starting to forget some things about her. That is the most heartbreaking. He has some of her old books which we must read from every single night. He sleeps with the blanket she made and her teddy bear too.
My oldest simply won't talk about it at all. It hurts him a lot. He misses her like crazy. He asked if there was birthday's in heaven. He asked God cares about birthday's. I sensed a twinge of bitterness in his voice. How could God take Grandma when they were going to do more stuff together?
We started a tradition of eating chocolate to remember her on her birthday. We asked people to take pictures of the chocolate thing and post it to her wall on facebook. The results helped my heart. This year, for whatever reason, there hasn't been a single photograph.
My Mom was a well-organized pack rat. She had report cards, art work we did as 3 year olds, every single card sent to her for any reason ever, pay stubs from her first job, and newspaper clippings from anyone she ever loved. She loved her treasures.
It was so hard to finally finish going through everything last week. I knew I couldn't handle it today, so I made sure it was done. It took fourteen months to go through everything she held near and dear. Most things I did not keep.
Then there were pictures from each of our births except the youngest. Mom was "devastated" when the film came back ruined. I am all for birth pictures from the side, but full-on vee jay jay shots were a bit of a shock. My dad laughs and said she was saving them until, "we were ready to see them." Apparently, we were never ready. I know for sure I wasn't. But now I can't un-see that...
Her friends are spread across the world. Everyone she met, she made an impression on. She gave food to those that held signs on street corners. She would make blankets for anyone she knew that was going to have a baby. I decided to keep that tradition going for her. I finished up the blankets for the "grandbabies" last Christmas. I knew she would have wanted me to.
Mom smelled like Downy, Lady's Speed Stick, and White Shoulders.
The cancer made her different. She hated being "needy" but when she got sick, she had no choice but rely on others. She ate a lot of Russian food. She was not a fan, but didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings.
Mom moved her books everywhere. We finally did a "total" count of the number of times she moved in her lifetime and the number is in the mid-50's. We can't decide if "temporary" living counts. I say, if her books were out of the boxes, it counted.
She also loved to can. During the summer, the kitchen would be hot, steaming, and smell of berries, fruit, and vinegar. She packed around nine boxes of canning jars. We finished off the last jar of blackberry jam last winter and my heart hurt a little bit.
By the time she went into hospice, we spoke almost everyday. I picked up the phone to call her, and I found in that moment, I was mad at God a little too. Cancer in her brain made her unable to speak. She was frustrated and angry. She spent her whole life talking. Then it was snatched away.
It is hard to say goodbye to someone you love so very, very much. Even when things were not great for long stretches of time, she was always my Mom. She had her things to work through, and I had mine. But we did. We found a way to make peace and love each other. Maybe that is why it was so hard. Things were finally really good, and then she was gone.
So if you can, today, pick up a piece of chocolate: cake, candy, ice cream, brownie, whatever... and think of Angie. She would tell you to diet tomorrow, for today is her birthday, and calories don't count.
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