Parenting Guru: Grief and Gratitude

[Editor's note: This month, Shine Parenting Gurus were asked to write about a moment over the last year that they are genuinely thankful for, whether that was a good time with their family, or a more difficult experience that made reflect upon their lives in a new way.]

can't say that the year 2010 has been a good one. As we prepare for Thanksgiving, I know that our holiday table will be missing two people this year due to unexpected deaths in the family.

Grandma Connie

For most of my life, Grandma Connie lived next door to my parents' house. She took me to school if I missed the bus and took care of me when I was sick. She gave me my first cup of coffee when I was 5; a cup filled half with coffee and half with milk. That is how I drink my coffee today.

About a year before she died, I wrote her a letter thanking her for everything she did for me as a child. I outlined the things I learned from her and the things I loved about her. I remember feeling smug about that letter, thinking I had said everything I needed to say to her. If she died, she would know how much I loved and appreciated her and I would know that I had left nothing unsaid. Turns out, it just doesn't work that way. When I got the call that she had died, I instantly thought of a thousand things I left out of that letter. Not only that, I hadn't told her how much I would miss her. I hadn't told her how much I would miss her because I didn't know. Today, I miss her everyday with every cup of coffee.

Grandpa

Six weeks after Grandma died, my grandfather dropped dead on his way to the kitchen to fix a bowl of cereal. Grandpa had always been a fascinating, larger than life figure to me. He married my grandmother when he was 16 and she was 17. He liked to say, "If she don't like how I turned out, it's her own fault 'cause she's the one who raised me!". She did like how he turned out. They had just celebrated their 63rd wedding anniversary when he died.

On the way to Grandpa's funeral, my 5 year old asked why we had funerals. I told her funerals are for saying good-bye to someone who has died. As I said it, I realized how absurd that sounds. Saying good-bye to Grandpa would be like trying to say good-bye to the color red. You can't say good-bye to the color red because it has been a part of your life forever and it wouldn't be just red that you would lose. Without red, there is no purple and yellow isn't so vibrant without a red contrast. Red can't cease to exist and neither can Grandpa. Red, and Grandpa, color my world.

One morning, my ten year-old asked, "Why are grandparents so special and so much nicer than other people?" I don't remember what I told him. I do remember that his sweet question flipped a switch for me. Instead of being unbearably sad, I was incredibly grateful. I had these two people in my life for 38 years. They had given me unconditional love and acceptance. They have influenced who I am, how I parent and how I live. I decided in that moment that I will not allow my memories of them to make me sad. I will not focus on what I have lost since their death. I will focus on who they were in life and what they meant to me. I still miss them both with every breath, and I will for the rest of my life. I am grateful for that, too.