Making it all too real

Death has a way of making you think. For me, the loss of my FIL has opened up memories of losing my grandparents. I was too young when I lost my two grandmothers. I have a vague memory of my paternal grandmother and nothing of my maternal grandmother.

My grandfathers, however, were a part of my childhood. Losing my paternal grandfather was really when I experienced the total death and funeral scene from beginning to end.

The call came in the middle of the night. The ringing awakened me and my friend Robin who was spending the night. We both listened to the one-sided conversation coming from my parents' room next to mine. I could hear the solemn tone in my father's voice, and I still remember the worry and how fast my heart thumped, knowing the news on the other end wasn't good. That it had to be news of my ailing grandfather. I remember Robin reaching to hold my hand under the covers.

My father came into my room and told me his father had died. I cried but not so much for my own loss. I cried for my father's suffering. His parent. Gone. Forever. And my grandfather's death brought forth a reality I hadn't yet experienced. Parents die. Someday I too would lose my own father. It was a horrible, terrible jolt of truth and a terrifying one.

We had the phone call for my FIL in the night. He'd been taken by ambulance to the hospital. My husband went immediately to be with his mother and sister. I didn't tell my daughters much that morning. Because Tom had been home with a virus for two days, they assumed daddy was still in bed. I didn't tell them any differently, but when I picked them up from school later that day, Roger had died.

I broke the news to them. Tom was with his family, picking up relatives at the airport and helping to finalize arrangements. I didn't think I could drive home with their idle discussions of school, and I worried Darcy would ask questions about Tom that would make me cry. So, keeping in mind my feelings of losing my grandfather and my reality check, I parked far away from everyone, sat them on the floor of the van, knelt in the grass at their feet, and took their little hands in mine.

It was so something my own mother would've done, and I'll probably cringe years from now, but there are no rules in parenting, and so I did what I thought best.

I told them Roger had fallen the day before and hit his head. I explained how he'd gone to the hospital but how he'd fallen again once he arrived home. By now, my voice was cracking, and tears were running down their cheeks because they knew.

They've watched two grandparents decline in health this past year. They've made countless trips to the various hospitals to visit both. By the time I told them that their grandfather had died peacefully in his sleep, they were both sobbing in my arms. It was a solemn ride home.

We spent the rest of the evening grieving. The girls sat in my arms on the couch while I held them and wiped tears. They each grieved in their own way. Darcy lay in bed, sucking her thumb, holding a picture of her grandparents, and listening to sad music. Madison lay in bed, clutching her blankies and thinking.

Both wanted to hug their father. They had questions about his mental state, his grief, and whether he'd cried or not. They both wanted - and needed - to see for themselves, he was okay. Because, like me, the reality was smacking them in the face, and they wanted him home so they could have both parents safe and sound.