Thursday, July 2, 2009

The Hardest Thing

Almost the hardest moment after hearing Mom had died was calling our children to tell them. Our son and daughter were in St. Lucia, visiting with their other grandmother. My daughter answered the phone and my husband told her the news. She whispered in disbelief, "Nana died?" then handed the phone to her brother. My son made an awful strangled sound, and sank to the floor, crying. My mom reached down and held him, weeping herself. We heard all this through the phone. 

After awhile, I asked my mom where my daughter was as I couldn't pick out any sound from her. "She went out of the room," she answered. "Mom, you need to find her," I said. I knew my girl would be curled up somewhere alone, that she wouldn't reach out to anyone. Sure enough, my mom found her locked in the bathroom, on the floor, the tears washing down her face. 

After we hung up the phone, my husband and I sat silently for a long time, both of us aching from not being able to put our arms around our children and comfort them as we all absorbed the fact that we wouldn't be seeing Nana anymore. It didn't seem possible that she could be gone. We thought we'd have so much more time. 

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