The ride back to Coleman was so hot (we couldn't get the blower to come on) that I was so focused on that, not much else penetrated my senses. We got home and Steph rested before having to go to work and the afternoon and evening were spent visiting with Clinton and his family. But eventually, they too went home. Steph was still at work and I sat quietly in the living room alone... and I felt the first twinge of grief. It hit like a bowling ball thrown at my chest. After Steph got home from work we talked about Norma Jean. I talked about the conversation I'd had with Kimberley on our way home. Kimberley had asked if I would be upset, if, when I went to heaven, that Norma Jean was there. (Before I reveal my response, let me just say, my grandchildren are not aware of the specifics of what happened when I lived with Norma Jean. They know she had adopted me, she was mean, and that the court took me away from her, that's how I ended up living in the children's home.) I answered that I would not be upset. I told her that I was not happy that Norma Jean had died. And that I did not want her to suffer for all eternity. And I laughingly added that I believe that God would probably not put our mansions next to one another. I also told her that what happened to her now was between her and God. As I related all of this to Steph, I added that if she was not in heaven, I do not believe that it would be due to what she did to me or to anyone else for that matter. It would be for what she did not do in her relationship with God. (I hadn't realized that this funeral was the first funeral my granddaughters had ever attended. Thomas was not there, he stayed in Coleman at his uncle's. So Kimberley had a lot of questions.)
The cousins and I had agreed to take a break from going through Norma Jean's belongings. As I already stated, I came home and visited with my family and they went to Bowser to visit other family graves and to drive by what used to be the family farm. We also agreed to meet back over at Norma Jean's house the following day to get as much done as possible before they had to return to their homes on Monday (today). We agreed to an early start and I left my home in Coleman around 7:00 to head back to Brady for the 4th day in a row. It was on that drive back to Brady, after the services were over, family members (except for the two cousins) had all gone home and it hit again. It felt as though I could hardly breathe. I heard grief moaning from deep in my throat. No words, just groans. Tears blurred my eyes and wet my cheeks as I felt my hands shaking on the wheel. I had to drive passed the cemetery on my way in, so I pulled in and drove right over to her grave site. I got out of my car and as I did, gasps of grief erupted from my chest. I walked over and brushed loose dirt off her headstone. Carole had put yellow silk roses on her grave. I stood there and asked, "Where are you?" I don't want her to suffer for all of eternity. But it's too late... too late to change the outcome... it's been decided, what ever it may be. I realized I had been looking for proof of an intimate relationship with God as I thumbed through the pages of several bibles found in her house. I found notes for medicines for her mother. I found song lyrics of some of her favorite old country and western songs. But I did not find what I was looking for... evidence, proof. It was too late to worry about it now. And I wondered if I was at fault. Did I give up too easily last year? Was it too easy for me to tell myself that she was too far gone and she was already unreachable? Could I have made a difference in the outcome of where she is now?
Don't think that in me saying that that I am assuming that she is in torment. What I am saying is that IF that's where she is, could I have influenced a change in That outcome? Did I give up too easily and walk away? I pulled a yellow rose from her bouquet and took it with me. It's still laying on the dash of my car.
When the cousins got over to her house, we talked. I told them that I was feeling twinges and as I started trying to share with them all that I've just written here, I choked up and began weeping... or, I refer to it as leaking. Gay spoke up and told me that she had watched me from the first day dig and search through every piece of paper, every photograph. She said she knew what I was looking for - proof, evidence, something to indicate that she did care about me. When she said that, I couldn't contain my emotion. Gay said that her advice to me was to let it go. I would not find the proof that I so desired and craved. It simply was not there. And, she's right. It's not there. There are so few photos of me and even the letter I wrote to her last year has not been found, yet there are letters dating back in the 40's and receipts for her ice cream dating two years ago or longer! Receipts for ice cream and no evidence of me? That hurts. But she's right. I already knew... I knew when I lived with her, I knew when I was still influenced by her though living apart, I knew when I visited her last year, I knew before the reading of the will. This comes as no surprise. Still, the fact remains that it is a fact and it hurts. But there's so few photos of Any of her family - whether me, her own parents, brother, nieces, cousins. There were thousands of photos of her dogs and hundreds of photos of her. No family portraits hung on the wall unless they were of her. No frame photos anywhere with the exception of one framed photo of her mother's sister on the bedside table in the back bedroom. Albums full of photos of either her or her dogs or both. Stacks and stacks of photos of her and of her dogs.
So, there are occasionally tears of grief. Grief that I meant so little to her. Grief that, what could have been never was and now it's too late. As I found more evidence of her influence on my life (our handwriting is almost identical, we shared the same taste in house robes, some jewelry and some other similarities) I had to deal with those things as now evidence of her influence on me... but it's also evidence of my desire to be accepted and loved by her... in other words, despite every effort (often deliberate) not to, I loved her. And... then there were tears.
No comments:
Post a Comment