One Year Later

It's been one year since Ryan's mom took her final breath on this earth.

One whole year.

As I prepared to write this post, I went back to read the posts I wrote about her last year, in the week of goodbyes. I read about the day I told you she was gone - knowing most of you had no idea she was even that close to death. I read through the high-speed version of the story where I filled you in on the timeline of her illness and death and how God answered Ryan's biggest prayer, which was to be with his mom when she died. I read about the importance of making memories, even when people don't look or feel their best, and I still stand by every word of this post. I read about the day we received about 800 visitors in six hours at her viewing. And then...I read about her funeral.

Those days are so full-color-fresh in my mind that it's hard to believe a full year has passed.

Grief is a strange thing. I've been grieving losses most of my life and know that not only do no two people grieve the same loss in the same way, but sometimes the same person doesn't grieve the same way over every loss. Does that even make sense?

The only family loss that Ryan and I had maneuvered since getting married was that of his grandfather, just over a year before his mom. I had no idea if we would grieve his mom the same way we had his grandfather - or if our ways of grieving this fresh loss would cause conflict between us. I've heard that can happen, you know. Husbands and wives who handle loss differently can end up at odds with each other over it.

It turned out that our methods of grief (at least this time) were very similar. Though we didn't set out to be purposeful about it, we ended up approaching it in very similar ways, and that only drew us closer to one another in the process. I choose to believe that was one of God's beautiful graces about this whole hard season.

We found a rhythm of being quiet together and telling stories together. We love all the stories - still. We recount the hard days of caregiving, the funny things she'd say, and our favorite memories of life with her. The stories don't usually make us cry, and I'm sure some would find that disrespectful, but it's what works for us. Nita was a woman of much joy and fullness of life, and I think it honors the way she chose to live to remember her with laughter and fondness.

We have things scattered around our home that remind us of her: a pillow here, a picture there, a piece of art she gave us, and seeing those things remind us of her and her presence here in our home before she died. She loved this place. She lived with us for two weeks after her surgery, and I remember her telling me how she could feel the presence of the Lord here. No tangible gift she ever gave me could compare to the gift of those words.

We also have things that remind us of how others carried us in those hard, hard days. Our small group gave us a gift card to a local nursery, and we bought a weeping cherry tree to plant in the front yard. (Cherry because pink was Nita's favorite color and they told us it would blossom pink...weeping because she loved a good cry.) Every day, as I come and go, I see the tree and remember the kindness of our friends who prayed us through that season. (Nita actually died during our small group meeting time, and I called from the cabin to let them know and they prayed for us right then and there.)

These are our ways of remembering.

We've done everything once now. All the holidays. All the birthdays. All the anniversaries. Each member of the family has wrestled through it differently. We are choosing to try to live in a way that honors the life she lived and the legacy she wanted to leave.

I think one of the hardest things for me has been figuring out how to grieve as an in-law. On one of the last few nights I spent at the cabin helping to care for her, she told me (through tears) how much she loved me and how glad she was Ryan had married me. And she told me she thought of me as her daughter. Not as a daughter-in-law, but as though I belonged to her. I treasured that so very much. I knew it was true even before she said it, but I still treasured hearing the words.

Even so, I am an in-law. I've tried to be careful and respectful about publicly sharing my thoughts and feelings, because I know so many others in the family were there longer and had more memories and a deeper kind of relationship that can only be forged with time. I do my best to capture my thoughts in private journals and my conversations with Ryan, but I haven't felt free to share them openly - at least yet.

But on this one-year anniversary of our goodbye, I again honor her life and her love for her family. I again offer my thanks for the son she raised who reminds me so much of her. I reach out to let you know that he and I are stepping forward in God's healing grace.