The Hope That Holds Us

Today is my first day without my Dede. Well, really it is the second, but I don’t count yesterday. We had the funeral yesterday, and it still didn’t feel real just yet. But today, I woke up at 3 AM & remembered.

Remembered there are no more tea times on her back porch.

Remembered I won’t be driving up to Defuniak to take care of her today.

Remembered I’ll never again feel the softness of her hands or see the corners of her cheeks turn up into a smile.

The pain of remembering felt like it took my breath away. Now, it’s 9:08 AM, I’m sitting on my couch, legs criss-crossed, with a hot tea in hand, & I still can’t get rid of the lump in my throat. I try to go on with this day—clean the house, fold the clothes, press the buttons on my computer. But I have to admit, I found myself sitting in the nursery crying over a baby onesie halfway through the day. I just don’t know how I will begin to describe Dede to my babies one day. Touching the onesies made me imagine how Dede would have squeezed my baby’s squishy, little legs and kissed her soft cheeks. I can’t imagine a piece of me not knowing the warmth of Dede’s hug or the sound of her laughter.

When my Aunt Jenn passed away, I watched as my mother grieved her person in this life. In the weeks and months that followed, my mom wrapped herself in Aunt Jenn’s clothes whenever she could. She covered our home and her lock screens with photos of her. She even tattooed her memory to her wrist. I wanted my mom to do whatever she needed to do to survive a world without her person—but in all honesty, I never truly understood it.

Now, on ground zero of grieving my Dede, I think I understand.

You see, that nagging ache in my chest makes me want to wrap myself up in memories of Dede—to fill any spots in my world where I can see or feel or touch with pieces of her, in hopes that I might feel her close again. Because maybe if I can keep her near, I can keep her alive in my world. This feels like the most important thing on day one of grief because I still very much need her alive. I still need her alive in my home, in my routine, in my heart. I still need her alive for my babies. I still need her alive for me.

So I do.

I wrap myself in her sweatshirt when I wake up. I slide on the gold ring she left for me. I linger a little longer in front of the photos of her on my walls. I play her favorite hymns before bed.

Most of all, I hope.

I spend my day with hope. Just hoping that all she was will stay so very alive in my world. That my babies might feel her love when I kiss them at night. That this great inheritance of faith she left for me, I might not waste.

I keep thinking of a nice, pleasant way to end this… something positive. But I really have none of that today. Only the knowing that tomorrow might be more of the same: grieving & hoping. And I think that’s okay.

*Okay, I came back because I thought of something positive…

Since I’ve been pregnant, I haven’t been able to enjoy a cup of tea, which I used to enjoy three times a day and most loved over conversation with my Dede on her back porch. Call it God, or being further along in my pregnancy, or my Dede winking at me from heaven, but I enjoyed tea again for the first time today. Small wins ;)