A Letter to a Hero August 30, 2012Posted by jeneypeney in all growed up, letters, life, schmoop, sentimental stuff, the famn damily.
It is almost unfathomable to believe it has been a year since you passed away. I don’t think I will ever forget how hard my stomach fell and how hard my heart stopped when I heard my phone ring at 5am on this day last year… I couldn’t even make myself get out of bed to answer it.
I knew deep in my heart who it was and the reason she was calling.
I have been struggling with writing this letter for some time now. Every time I would start typing, words would just cluster together in a series of random thoughts and severe blubbering; they were really more like a manic stream of thought than any kind of organized thought.
Although you have been gone from this earth for an entire year now, it took me up until about 3 weeks ago to really realize it. Funny how that happens, right? It hadn’t completely registered that you were gone and never coming back until over 300 days later. I spent over 7,200 hours in denial, Grandpa. Pretty pathetic for your smart little Jeney Penny, huh?
I cried over your body (and cursed the cosmetic mortician person for shaving off your moustache) for two days. At this point I was in the first stage of grief; denial.
My brothers and I spread your ashes on the property you were born on, the farm where you grew up, your favorite fishing lake, and your favorite hunting post. Still in denial.
Buried the remainder of your ashes and said my final goodbye… yep. Still in denial.
Ten months afterward, my dad walked me down the aisle, I said, “I do,” and it STILL hadn’t completely registered to me that you weren’t there on my big day.
So three weeks ago? When I finally came to terms with your passing? I went through the last four stages of grief in a whirlwind of erratic, insane emotions I don’t think a seasoned psychologist could have handled.
I was angry. So angry I ended up screaming at my husband for absolutely no reason one night.
I began bargaining. I prayed every night that God would send you to my dreams (and that I would remember it). I just wanted a few more moments with you.
I was sad. I’m still sad. So sad that it has taken me 3 hours to get to this point in my letter because I can’t see the computer screen through my tears.
I selfishly wish I could call you up and you would just tell me everything will work out. I would give anything for you to have watched me walk down the aisle and dance with me at my wedding. I’m not sure I even want to walk in graduation when I get my Master’s because you won’t be there. I find myself overwhelmed with grief when I think about the fact that you will never get to hold your great-grandchildren.
But through that selfishness, I am finding peace in knowing you are no longer in pain – knowing your legs are strong, your heart is healthy, and you are smiling again. I see you playing fetch with Leo and Max in a big, open field. I can imagine you teasing and giving your sisters and brothers a hard time for silly things; something that made you such a wonderful man to be around. I know you are fishing and hunting and doing everything your poor health and immobility wouldn’t let you do the last couple years of your life.
The past couple weeks have been really hard, and I know today will probably be the worst of all. But please know I am not crying for you. I am crying for me today. I am crying because I miss you. I am crying because I wasn’t able to tell you all about Brian and my camping trip last weekend. I am crying because I am selfish and I want to hear your voice one last time.
I remember watching an episode of Grey’s Anatomy and the characters making a big deal about actually saying, “So-and-So died.” The word “died” was key here. Not “gone,” or “passed away.” They had to say the loved one, “DIED.”
I think that’s going to be my goal this year, telling (and convincing) myself you died. I think maybe that will help me shift in to accepting this whole shebang. I know I’ll see you again someday, but for right now I need to realize you’re no longer here. I need to come to grips with the fact that you are dead.
(Holy shit that is hard to say.)
I love you and I miss you so. much. So effing much.
Goodbye, Grandpa… I will see you again someday.
All my love,
The One About Crazy Moms and Lost Messages April 20, 2012Posted by jeneypeney in a little help from my friends, all growed up, life, the famn damily, what the hell.
Before I start – and just in case anyone was curious – I would like to make something very clear…
There will be absolutely no zygotes, fetuses, babies, or any other form of tiny human being incubated and grown in my lady parts any time in the next few years.
It’s not that I don’t want kids someday; I do. I have simply decided to head off the, “So when are are starting a family?” conversations that I am sure to encounter beginning June 24th.
Or, more importantly, if you happen to be my baby-crazy-I-want-grandchildren-like-yesterday mother – I am putting the kibosh on any more of your “Honeymoon Surprise!” wishes.
I seem to have those, “I want grandchildren!”/”Get off my back!” conversations with my mom far too often. Yesterday I had a particular doozie in which I kind of went all Gretchen Wieners on my mom’s ass and this is how it went:
Baby-Crazy-Mom: “I was telling your dad yesterday I hope you and Brian have an oopsie during the honeymoon…”
Empty-Uterus: “Not going to happen. We cannot afford to have a baby right now.”
BCM: “Well, whatever your insurance doesn’t cover I am sure The Actual’s will.”
EU: “That doesn’t mean we can afford the crib, changing table, diapers, food, toys, clothes and all that nonsense. I would probably have to take a leave of absence for an extended period of time considering all the heavy lifting I and all the chemicals I am exposed to – the stress of living on one income wouldn’t help anything”
BCM: “But your father and I just saw a four-in-one crib at Sears!”
EU: “Well, that’s nice – do they make four-in-one diapers too?! How about food that digests in to more edible food after the kid shits it out? Have you seen any self-washing onesies lately? I SAID NO BABIES!”
I just can’t seem to get this through her head. Despite the blatant privilege I have been afforded of actually having health insurance, a decent paying job, and the ability to afford the birth control my insurance does not cover through a Planned Parenthood that is only a 10 minute drive away, The Actual and I are not ready to procreate.
Hell – I’m lucky if I remember to pants on before I leave the house or can feed myself proper meals seven nights a week.
I guess besides needing to get this frustration off my chest, I was wondering how I get my mom to understand where I am coming from? How do I get her to understand this is less about her getting grand babies to spoil and more about us being handed a huge platter of responsibility we are not ready for?