Grief, Hindsight, and a Dash of Reality

Grief is stupid. One minute you’re laughing and the next you’re trying to conduct music in front of a church congregation and trying not to cry. Grief is also as inconvenient as it is brutally honest. Combine grief with a sprinkle of hindsight and prepare yourself for some pretty heavy self-loathing. But sometimes, I think, we need that dash of reality.

A few months before my 13th birthday, my parents told us they were getting a divorce. As I’m sure you can imagine, that left me lost without any hope of a strong footing. Just as I was finding some mildly even ground to walk on, my dad told me he was going to get married. I was…I’m not sure what I was. It wasn’t angry. It wasn’t necessarily sad. It just was one more tremor of my already shaky ground.

Let me start off by saying, I was not a nice step-child. I felt like the world had crapped on me and that I had every right to be sullen and angry. I did all that I could to stay close to my dad. I did all that I could to distance myself from Charlotte. She tried so many times to show me that she cared for me and that she wasn’t trying to replace my mom. The more she tried, the more I pulled away. I struggled well into adulthood. I couldn’t find that solid ground that I so desperately was seeking. But she never gave up trying.

After Jake and I had been married for a few years, he literally sat me down and told me I had to stop holding Charlotte at a distance. I’m not sure why I kept doing it. (Was it a defense mechanism? Was it because accepting would feel like a disloyalty to my own mother? I’m sure some therapist somewhere would have a field day with me.) It was hard, but I tried. I wish I could say that I was a good person who embraced the love she so freely gave, but I still held her at arm’s-length. But she never gave up trying.

When I started having children, Charlotte and my dad were sure to be as connected to my children as they possibly could. That love was showered on my children and they knew and loved their grandparents. Jake became very loved by Charlotte for his hugs – “Jake Hugs”. She was always very good at telling people “I love you”. And I did much better at accepting but I still kept a tiny barrier up. But she never gave up trying.

I’m not sure when it happened but somewhere through the years, that barrier lessened. It’s only now that I’m realizing that the reason the barrier isn’t there anymore isn’t because of anything I did or said. It really is because she always called to check up on me and my family. It’s because of yearly visits and time spent. It’s because of her effort. It’s because somehow she knew I was a tough nut to crack. But she never gave up trying.

In October of 2020, Jake and I made a trip to Thatcher because Kennedy and Jordan were getting sealed in the Gila Valley Temple. Charlotte met me and my girls at a local boutique. I mean, shopping with the girls is a must. We were all looking at dresses and tried on quite a few. Charlotte and I found the same dress at the same time. They only had one left in a size that would work for both of us. I told her to take it because I knew how much she wanted it. It was cute, comfortable, and had pockets! (The freaking golden prize, am I right?) It looked cute on her too. She tried to give it to me a couple of times, but I told her it was all good. It was perfect for her. She literally tried to give me the clothes off her back. When I wouldn’t take the dress, she tried to give me money for another dress. I wouldn’t take it. I wanted her to keep her cute dress and her money. But she never gave up trying.

On Sunday, January 23rd, my dad called me to tell me he was at the ER with Charlotte. She had been struggling but he was very worried because she couldn’t move. That night, the test results came back and told us she had pancreatic cancer. Further testing would show the cancer had spread from her pancreas to her liver and into her lungs. Tuesday night, I got a phone call from my dad. The hospital was letting all the kids and grandkids come in to see her. I frantically was trying to figure out how to make a very quick trip to Arizona. I think he knew, even then, that I would not make it in time. My dad put me on speakerphone. I had the opportunity to speak with Charlotte. Though her voice and speech were almost gone, I was able to tell her that I loved her and hear her soft “I love you”. My dad assured her he’d give her a gentle “Jake Hug” from us, which – he said – garnered a beautiful smile from her.

Those were the last words we ever got to exchange. As far as last words go, they are the best ones, I suppose. The problem is I’m left with regret and I can tell you that I’d rather deal with physical pain than the sting of regret. Regret hurts so much more. Sometimes, it catches me and I can’t breathe. I regret the wasted time. I regret those years of my reluctance, my distance, my barrier. But I can’t tell you how thankful I am for her patience and long-suffering in dealing with a pain-in-the-butt stepchild. You could probably ascertain that I didn’t deserve any of it. But she never gave up trying.

Grief may be stupid, inconvenient, and brutally honest, but it’s an inconvenience and honesty that’s needed. I thought I had more time. One more visit. One more chance. Don’t make my mistake. I’m mainly writing this all out for me; however, if you find yourself in a situation where you are holding back, afraid or reluctant, just let go. Don’t be like me. Your energy is best spent on those who love you. If you are the one trying to get through to your reluctant loved ones, keep on going. Keep telling them you love them. Keep showing you love them. “Love when it is scary/ Love when it is hard/ Love when you don’t want to/ Love and let down your guard”.

Just, please, whatever you do, never give up trying. You’re needed more than you will ever know.