Generations

Today I go through old family papers. Colby was always fascinated with these old documents. His great-grandfather's Army discharge papers, property abstracts that date back more than 130 years, his great-grandmother's wedding announcement. Colby cared about these people and these documents. Now I wonder what I should do with them.

The things my mother and I were saving for Colby and his children sit on shelves, on table tops, and in boxes. Some are spread throughout my mother's home. Proudly displayed. Others stay carefully packed away in boxes. These are things that have been handed down from generation to generation, going back to my great-grandparents. there are even photos of my great-great grandparents. I, now, am the last of the line.

My mother says, yes, absolutely, I must hang on to them. She does not grasp the fact that after me, there is nothing. No one. If I do not do something with them, these treasured family heirlooms will end up in the trash. But I cannot think what to do. The concept is too big for me right now. An historical society maybe. But which one? Ebay is another possibility. Some people will buy anything. I'd give the things away if I knew it meant something to someone. Too many decisions. Too many things.

My counselors tell me not to look too far ahead, to live in the moment, to take one day at a time. But if I do not make plans for these items that meant so much to our family, no one will. And to have them thrown away would be the biggest disrespect I could show those who came before me. Another dilemma to save for another day. But I cannot wait too long. If/when something happens to me, there must be a plan in place.

Premonition?

Last year at this time, as Colby and I drove to Minnesota to visit my mom, he turned to me in the truck and said, “I want this to be a really good Christmas; I think it is the last one we will all spend together.”

I, of course, thought Colby meant my mom might not be around this year. She was 85 last year. At that age, every day, every hour, is a gift. And that is, probably, what Colby meant. Colby had plans, things he wanted to see, do, experience. I know it was not his intent to leave us.

When Colby said those words it never crossed my mind that it was going to be Colby who was not with us this year. If it had, I wonder what I would have done differently? Anything? Everything? I know I would have hugged him more, told him I loved him more. I would have asked him that, when his time came, to find relatives and loved ones who had already passed and tell them how much I love and miss them.

While Colby always felt he would not live to be old, I do not think, a year ago, that he felt he only had a few days left. If he had, I also wonder what he would have done differently. How would he have spent his remaining days? Would he have traveled? Played more music? Eaten more junk food? Spent more time with friends? What would any of us do if we knew this holiday would be our last?

Were Colby’s words a premonition, or just the reality of having an 85-year-old grandmother who is not in great physical shape? We will never know and even if we did, knowing this particular fact would not make any difference. What will make a difference is to let those around us know we care. When we greet friends, we need to let them know how truly glad we really are to see them. We need to listen closer, help and support more, smile when we can, give as circumstances allow. I hope everyone reading this has many, many wonderful holidays ahead, but even more, I hope everyone makes the most of each and every day, whether the days number 100 or 10,000.

Identity

My identity is lost. For more than 23 years I was a mom. Now I am not sure what I am. Yes, I am a friend, daughter, motivator. A teacher. But my role first and foremost has been mom. Where do I go from here? With Colby's passing, my identity is irrevocably gone, never to return.

Those of us who have become childless parents are in a unique situation. I realize I am not the only one who is going through this. Unfortunately, there are countless others who have lost either their only child, or all their children. Some have grandchildren, so their roles as a parent of some kind will continue. Others, like me, do not.

I know I have to "reinvent" myself. Find a new identity. But that does not come easily. And it is too soon. Way too soon. In the meantime I, along with all the other childless parents out there float in limbo, no longer knowing who I am or what I am supposed to be. I know someday the answer will come. In the meantime, I mourn the loss of my treasured identity along with the treasure that was, and is, my child.

Sundance

From my last post 50 percent say to send a card to my mom for Grandparent’s Day and 50 percent say call her. Hmmmm . . . Sometimes it is hard to know the right thing to do. I decide to do both. I go to the store and find a blank card. In it I will write a message about how much I appreciated my mom as a grandma and how much Colby loved her. And of course I will also call her on Sunday. We talk every day, but on that day I will mention being a grandparent. This is hard for me because being a grandma is something I had looked forward to and now will never be.

While at the store I begin to cry. What I wouldn’t give to get through a trip to the store with dry eyes. What sets me off this time is a pair of men’s flannel pajamas. Colby’s birthday is coming up in a few weeks and normally at this time of the year I would buy gifts for him. I wander the store and wait for the crying spell to cease so I can check out. I have found it makes people in the checkout area nervous and upset if I cry during the process, so I wait.

While I wait I am drawn to the pet section. This is odd because I was here a few days ago to get cat food. Since my last visit an entire shelf has been cleared and removed and dog toys are now on sale in the cat section. I walk closer to the dollar bin and my heart jumps into my throat. There, in the bin, are two miniature cloth “hot dogs” with a squeaker inside. This was the favorite toy of Colby’s dog Sundance. Sundance’s hot dog is long gone and I had been looking for the past three years in stores and online for one for our dog Abby, and more recently for my mom’s dog. I had even tracked it down to the manufacturer only to be told it had been discontinued. And here, on this morning, I see two brand new hot dogs. They are the only toys in the bin and there are two of them.

This is the second time since Colby passed that I have been strongly reminded of Sundance, whose only purpose on Earth was to make people happy. He passed away 3-1/2 years ago and is missed every day. The first reminder of him was in Houston, the week after Colby passed, when an old horse named Sundance was the only horse to accept me. And now here are the hot dogs. I choose to take this as a sign that everything will some how, some way, some day be okay. The tears stop and I buy the hot dogs. They will make nice surprises in the doggies Christmas stockings. Thank you, Sundance.

Conversations

I cannot rest today so I pick a pile of Colby’s stuff and begin to go through it. At the center I find a briefcase and inside it must be every newspaper clipping his grandmother ever sent him. He and she had a special connection, a special bond. Both loved to discuss politics, religion, history, art, social sciences and news of the day. These are subjects I am not particularly interested in, at least not at the level they were, and I remember that while I lost my only child, my mother lost her only grandchild. Who, now, will discuss these things with her? Who will call her with an insightful comment on our national leaders? Who will talk with her about daily life in medieval times, Greek and Roman mythology, the shortage of water in Kenya, Beethoven’s mistresses, three legged frogs, fossils, satirical cartoons, the many uses of borax, Native American traditions, English literature, algae, our nation’s aging roads and bridges, and the many other things they discussed in depth?

I realize I must make an effort to fill the gap, but that means developing a working knowledge of all of the above, and more, and I am already so very overwhelmed. But I will do this. My mother is important to me. She is the last of my family and deserves these intellectual conversations that mean so much to her. I already call her several times a day, but now I will call freshly prepped with a topic and the Internet close at hand. If I can't be knowledgeable about the subjects, maybe I can at least pull up some interesting facts to share with her.