FarmGirlHipster

Just before Christmas I lost my final grandparent. And from it, I’ve realized that my grandparents have given me the gift of understanding death and grieving.

My dad’s mother, Marilyn, was the grandparent I was closest to, yet the death I understood the least. She died when I was in my early 20’s and living in Madison. When I’d heard she was in the hospital and dying I came home to see her, very unprepared. In the hospital she was connected to a breathing tube and I remember thinking she looked like a fish gasping for air. She would make eye contact and I would look away, not wanting to recognize her. I missed my opportunity to say goodbye to her because I was scared and it’s one of the few regrets I still live with in life.

A few years later my mom’s father, Joe, died. This death was the one that taught me death can sometimes be a relief, even when you don’t want that person to be gone. We had mentally lost him to Alzheimer’s and my family and grandmother were doing their best to care for him, even as he was becoming more violent and more confused. His death was much more spiritual- with the family, and some non-believers, witnessing the spirits of my elders coming to get him in his final moments. The family did an Irish funeral after the services, drinking and telling stories, showing you can mourn and celebrate a life. When I mourned his death I realized I was also mourning my late grandmother’s death, which I had pushed down in either denial or inexperience in mourning.

Three years ago I experienced my dad’s father’s death, Roger. I felt like I had the opportunity to do the most “right” things with his death in flying home from Boston the second I learned he was in the hospital and might have had a stroke. My husband was back in SF celebrating his company’s IPO (unaware what was happening), so I scooped up my only child at the time and headed to Madison. I still remember my mother ushering me over to his side when he woke up and asking him if he’d seen who came to visit him from Boston. He looked over, saw my face, and said my name; he knew I was there. I talked to him for a short bit before he lost consciousness. It’s a memory I’ll forever carry with me.

The thing I realized most in his death is you can continue to live without wanting to live. The family couldn’t reach an agreement on letting him go, so he lived for a while longer while connected to life support. However, I received the most beautiful of gifts during this time of getting closure on my late grandmother’s death. My two year old son was getting visits from “Grandpa in the Hospital” and “Grandma from the Hospital”. Through pictures we were able to learn “Grandma from the Hospital” was my late grandmother, Marilyn. HR was having live conversations with them and telling me things he never would have been able to know (like what I used to call them or that they had a toy closet with no trains only tractors). They followed us home to Boston and later to Japan. I was in Japan for work with my husband and son when I learned my grandfather had finally passed. My mother gave me the play by play of his final, special moments. I was stuck in Japan with only a $5,000/person option to get us to WI for the funeral, which pained me tremendously. I didn’t have to tell my son “Grandpa in the hospital” was gone as he told me that evening they weren’t going to visit him anymore since they were going “to the other side”, having no idea what that meant. It helped me realize that while I was angry at myself for not saying goodbye to my grandmother, she wasn’t.

A few weeks ago I lost my final grandparent, my mom’s mother, Mary. Her death taught me you can choose to die. My grandmother had outlived my late grandfather and her second husband. The family had decided months before that she was unsafe to drive and her final shred of independence, living by herself, was starting to wane. She had an aneurism in her stomach that was operable, but she was done. She was very clear on her wishes and spent her final days on pain meds and surrounded by family saying their final goodbyes. She argued with my mom about my mom cutting short her trip in Boston, seeing us, and told her to stay put. In the end, she still waited until my mom’s trip was over and my Aunt Karen was able to come back to WI. That evening she left the earth on her terms, which was the most appropriate way for her.

My parents are now orphans and, while grieving their own losses, have done their best throughout this to teach us kids about life, death, and grieving, One day we’ll be forced to use this newfound “skill set” to say goodbye to them and prepare our own children. Hopefully not for a very long time, though.

Do children really love their parents as much as their parents love them? It seems impossible that such a little soul could love that much. Harrison’s new, adorable thing is telling me that he loves me most. To which I always respond, “Impossible”. Because, to me it seems impossible that he could ever understand the depths at which I love him.

I carried him in me for 9 months, loving him when he became a heartbeat and daydreamed about what he’d look like. I loved him even more when he was born and I had to witness him in pain as they pricked his foot to test for jaundice. I vowed then to always protect him from unnecessary pain. I loved him more when I learned all his crying and pain was caused by my dairy consumption and his allergy…and this Wisconsinite promptly gave up my favorite food group because my love for him was far greater. I have taken him places to show him the world. I have introduced him to all my favorite people to share the love I feel from them with him. I moved him across the country to be with his grandparents and create lifelong memories with them. I read him books and sing him songs every night. I listen to every adorable story he tells me. I play with him to let his imagination expand. I’m quick to pick him up every time he falls or stubs his toes because his pain is my pain. How could he possibly think he loves me more than my heart that explodes with joy and happiness at the thought of him?

Because he heard my heartbeat every day for 9 months. Because when he was being pricked for jaundice at two days old, he looked to me for comfort. Because when he was being poisoned by the dairy in my breast milk, it was also my breast milk that temporarily relieved the pain. Because as we have traveled the world and he has met new people, he has never been afraid because I’m there with him and he trusts me. Because I am one of his best friends, his safe place, and his mother. Because I have shown him love every day of his life and taught him how to love so fiercely.

Maybe it’s not impossible for him to love me as much as I love him, but I still love him most.

I love my job and one of the things I love about it is the perks. In September, when I was 6 months pregnant, I learned we were offering 6 months of paid time off to parents. One other perk nested in there was that my company was offering memberships to a company called Cleo, which offers pregnancy and postpartum guidance through experts. Always wanting to take advantage of free things, I scrolled through the list of topics and one that resonated with me was advice on how to prepare big siblings for little siblings. It’s a topic that was weighing heavily on me as I realized how much we were going to be disrupting Harrison’s world, so I set up time with an expert. The call was a 1:1 with a psychologist and was really great. I got a lot of great nuggets out of the conversation and shared them with my husband, who was on Harrison duty during the call. I’d read before that often when you’re in labor your contractions will slow down when you get to the hospital due to the bright lights. I was surprised when the psychologist also mentioned that contractions typically slow when you leave the house and leave your child/ren behind. Knowing how fast and furious my contractions were last time, I didn’t think much of it.

One complicated thing about this pregnancy has been nailing down a due date and I’ve been given two: December 30th and January 6th. I’ve always gone by the earlier one, knowing I could fall back to the later one when convenient (like when flying late in the pregnancy or preventing being induced).

My sister arrived late last Wednesday (26th) with her daughter to help take care of Harrison when the time came and I went into labor. Right on cue, last Friday I had my “39/40 week” checkup and learned, to the shock of my doctor, I was 5 cm dilated and unlikely to still be pregnant by the end of the weekend. That afternoon at my non-stress test I learned I was also having consistent contractions, every 10 minutes. It helped me recognize the pressure of these early contractions to now know what to look for. The nurse flagged a doctor for review and after waiting for her blessing to leave, in spite of having contractions, I promised to come back if the contractions got worse or my water broke, given they didn’t think it would be a long labor. These contractions continued into the evening on Friday, again Saturday afternoon and evening, and Sunday afternoon and evening. Each night we’d prep Harrison that mommy and daddy might not be there when he woke up, but Aunt Kari and Brielle would be while we were at the hospital having the baby. You could visibly tell that stressed him out as he’d lay awake, not falling asleep, and would call for us in the middle of the night. And, shortly after bedtime is when the contractions would stop.

I didn’t have any contractions Monday and Tuesday and that started to worry me. Combined with the fact that my sister and her daughter had been here for almost a week with no action, I was starting to stress. We had booked them on a one-way ticket so they could go home after the baby was born, but hadn’t thought about what happened if the baby was overdue. I finally asked my sister the fateful question of when she’d told her work she’d be back and she told me Monday, the 6th.

Thankfully the contractions came back Wednesday (2nd), but ended again early into the evening. Desperate and having tried most old wives tales to naturally induce labor, I scheduled an acupuncture session to promote labor on Thursday. Upon leaving the acupuncturist, the contractions started again. That evening I also had a “40/41 week” doctor’s appointment. I had inquired to his nurse earlier in the day to see if they could do a membrane sweep to attempt to promote labor. She said the doctor typically wouldn’t as he liked to see things progress naturally, but would check with him. She later called back and confirmed that the doctor would not, but was happy to talk to me about it. I couldn’t get an appointment with any other doctor for the week, so I had no choice but to keep my appointment. At the appointment the doctor was shocked when he realized I was 6-7 cm dilated, admitting he’d assumed the doctor from the previous week was inaccurate. He also confirmed the baby had dropped and was in station 0, at my pelvis. He gave me a membrane sweep and offered induction options for me to think about since he couldn’t give me an answer on why this baby hadn’t been born yet. He was as puzzled as me.

By the time I got home the contractions were coming pretty fast and furious along with cramping. I found myself unable to sit and wanting to do the familiar pacing. I was convinced the baby was coming and had my husband verify he had everything ready for the hospital. In pain, it was time to read Harrison his bedtime stories, which I decided I wanted to muster through for his sake. By the time I finished and said goodnight to Harrison, the contractions stopped. Disappointed, I went to bed, hoping maybe I could will the contractions to start up again. It didn’t work.

Now here we are two days before my later due date, with my sister leaving in less than 48 hours to fly back to Wisconsin and not having held her new niece or nephew. The guilt and stress are destroying me along with the panic of what we do for childcare for Harrison if the baby comes after my sister leaves. In the midst of all these emotions, I can’t decide if this baby is just being extremely inconsiderate or if my love for Harrison is preventing by body from letting him/her enter this world.

Harrison,

I write you this letter as your last Christmas as our only child. And, while I look forward to meeting this new addition to our family, it also breaks my heart to think about how much is about to change in your world that you won’t be able to understand right now.

You have brought your dad and I so much joy in just 2.5 years. You have taught us the meaning of unconditional love with your innocence and constant affection. You have expanded what we believed to be our capacity to love and taught us how to be selfless people. You have even taught us how to love each other differently than we did before. You made us a family and you made us parents. And, you did all of this by just being yourself. You’re a very special child and are absolutely perfect.

Since you were born we’ve realized that you alone are enough for us. There is nothing else we could ask for in this world right now. However, we felt it was unfair to keep you to ourselves and not give you a sibling to grow up with. Because of this, we decided to give you the gift of a brother or sister. We keep telling you that this is your baby and I hope you know s/he is. They are going to be your best friend, your new family, and your constant tie to your father and me. And while things will be hard in the beginning and we’ll all be making sacrifices, know that this child is going to look to you with the love and adoration we do. And, we hope you shower him/her the same love and affection you show us daily.

Harrison, we love you with all our hearts and look forward to the memories you guys will make together.

Love,
Mom and Dad

Saturday is my grandfather’s funeral and unfortunately I’m not going to be there to say my final goodbye to him. It especially saddens me because it’s not just goodbye to him, but goodbye to family traditions that he and my late grandmother worked hard to uphold.

I feel like there were four Roger Rech’s in this world – the life before kids, the life with kids, the life with grandkids, and the life without my grandmother.

I obviously never knew the Roger Rech before kids, but I like to think that life started when he met my grandmother in high school. He and Grandma would talk lightly of it, especially when they would talk about my great Aunt Kate that they went to high school with. It wasn’t until after my grandmother died that Grandpa would open up about stories of his time in the military and missing my grandmother. At one time he shared with me a picture of my young grandmother sitting on a car. While it would seem like an ordinary picture, you could see the picture was folded and he explained that he kept it in his wallet and it was what kept him going during his military time while he missed my Grandmother. He said Grandma was proud of the car she had purchased for him with my Great Grandma Lela and both were waiting for him to return. You could hear the love and longing for my grandmother as he told those stories.

The second Roger Rech was the father of seven children. Again, this time was before me. Interestingly, this was also not a time he shared stories of, but my parents and aunts and uncles did. I knew a few things were important to him, which he instilled in his children: agriculture, hard work, saving, family, and education. I believe he’s proud of how his children have helped to instill these in their children.

The third was Grandpa Rech and the one I got to grow up with. During this time the household duties were still split with Grandma spending much of the time in the house with Grandpa outside on the farm. Grandpa would come into the house every day to eat and in the afternoons to nap on the living room floor. When he came in he’d always ask about our sewing projects and want an update on school. On rainy or winter days I realized his knowledge capacity when I’d find him reading the Encyclopedias for fun or crushing a game of Jeopardy on the computer. For fun, he’d also come out for a game of basketball or sledding with us and seemed ageless. Given his passion for farming, he taught the next generations what he knew and loved spending time on the farm with the grandkids. He’d find a common interest with each of us, whether baling hay or introducing us to the new farm kittens. He’d also let us keep our animals there after we moved off the farm and give us regular updates on how they were doing. This was my favorite part because it gave me an excuse to talk to Grandpa and make conversation, jealous of the farming time my brothers got to spend with him.

The last Roger Rech was the one without my grandmother. This stage started before we lost my grandmother, but as she was sick. I remember watching both their patience as she taught him how to cook and bake his favorite recipes, knowing one day it would be a skill he would need. This is when Grandpa also showed his tender side and started taking over all the traditions that Grandma had upheld for the family. He’d send a card with a heartfelt letter for every birthday, telling a story about what was happening on the farm. He even did this the day my son, Harrison, was born, talking about what was happening and his wish to teach Harrison how to drive the farm truck as he got older. In Grandpa’s mind, he was always going to be there and I think we all believed the same. Every time I would come home to Wisconsin to visit, Grandpa always prioritized the time to come into town to visit and get updates on our lives. He was never too busy and nothing was ever more important.

I think that’s why it pains me to not be there for the funeral. My life got too busy and his time ended before I could make it back and show my respects. I hope that as he looks down on my life, he feels pride in how I raise my children with the same values he taught his children and grandchildren. Our family was blessed to know him and further blessed to learn from him. His legacy will live on in all of us.