Good Grief

1

My mother hugged me again. “I don’t have to leave yet,” she said for the third time. “If you’re not ready—”

“I’m ready,” I said quickly. Too quickly.

A wounded expression crossed her face, and I felt guilty.

As much of a struggle as it could be to live with my mother at thirty-two, I did know that I couldn’t have survived these last two years without her.

“Thank you. For absolutely everything. But it’s time that I try to figure out how to do this myself. Whether I’m ready or not.”

Her chin trembled slightly, but she nodded.

“Now go on,” I said, gesturing to the waiting cab. “You’re going to miss your train.”

She nodded again and turned, before two small bodies came barreling past me and almost knocked her to the ground in a tight hug.

And for a moment, I questioned whether I should be sending my mother home or not.

Susie and Bobby needed stability after losing their father two years ago, and my mother, while not always easy, had certainly provided that.

But no. We needed to do this. And my mother had her own life to live in Philadelphia.

Although after several visits from my father, I certainly understood why coming to live with me, where she only did half of the housework instead of doing Everything herself, could feel like a vacation.

Even with little kids running around the house.

Granted that was then. Now, Susie was eight, Bobby was six, and they were both in school.

And I was finally starting to feel like I was coming out of the cocoon of grief.

I wasn’t a butterfly yet by any stretch of the imagination, but I was starting to feel like maybe someday I could grow some wings.

Just not with my mother living in my house.

I had gone from my parents’ house to college to marrying Harry. And then when he died, my mother moved in. “Just until you get back on your feet,” she assured me.

The prospect of being alone was terrifying.

There had always been someone else in charge.

Someone else to share the burden of being the adult.

Someone whom I could ask when I was unsure.

And I didn’t know if I could fill that role on my own, either for the kids or for myself.

But it was time to try—and if I failed, well, Philadelphia wasn’t that far away.

“Okay, give Grandma one more kiss and then say goodbye. She’s got to get home to Grandpa after all.”

“You’ll come visit us, won’t you?” Susie asked.

My mother opened her mouth to reply, and I could see she was going to say she would stay. “She’s going to come visit,” I reminded Susie before I wound up unpacking suitcases. “And we can go visit her in Philadelphia too.”

“On the train?” Bobby asked. There were few joys in life that trumped a train ride for a six-year-old boy.

“Of course on the train,” I said, ruffling his hair. He beamed up at me. “Now go on. One more hug and kiss, and then Grandma has to go.” Both kids complied, and I hugged her as well. “This was a mitzvah,” I whispered into her ear.

“You’re my daughter, Barbara,” she replied, squeezing me. “All you ever need to do is say you need me.”

Finally, she released me and made her way down the front walk, waving as she took her seat in the back of the taxi.

The three of us watched as the car pulled away from the curb, and I saw Susie surreptitiously wipe at an eye with the back of her hand.

In some ways, losing Harry was hardest on her.

He had been wrapped around her little finger since she was born.

And while we talked about him a lot to Bobby, he didn’t really remember his father the way that Susie did.

He had only been four when Harry died, and two years was a long time for him.

What they needed was a distraction. “You know what would be perfect right now?” I asked, taking their hands. They both looked up at me. “Ice cream.”

“But we haven’t had dinner,” Susie said suspiciously.

I crouched down. “What if ice cream”—I paused for dramatic effect—“ Is our dinner tonight?”

“Can we do that?”

I winked at her. “If we all agree not to tell Grandma when she calls to tell us she made it home. We’re a team—we can do whatever we want as long as we do it together. What do you say?”

“Ice cream! Ice cream!” Bobby shouted.

“I guess ,” Susie said, drawing it out to three syllables. “Just this once.”

“I’ll sweeten the pot,” I said, still at their level. “What if we eat it—just this once—while we watch television?”

“That’s against the rules,” Susie said primly.

“And that’s why it’s a special treat,” I said. “One-time offer—yes or no?”

“ Yes !” Bobby said. “Say yes, Susie!”

Susie agreed, and I parked them in front of the television while I went to get bowls and trays. We were going to be just fine.

Which wasn’t what I was saying at ten that night, when my kids were still awake.

Bobby had begged for a second bowl of ice cream, then threw up after his bath, and Susie was lying on my bed, holding her stomach and moaning dramatically.

She hadn’t even finished her first bowl, but there was no way to convince her that her brother eating too much ice cream was not contagious.

By eleven, they were both asleep, albeit in my bed. I, however, lay awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if I could actually raise two children all by myself.

When you say your marriage vows, until death sounds so far away.

You assume you’ll be a little old lady with white hair and seven teeth left, with scores of grown children and grandchildren who will welcome you into their homes and take care of you by the time you have to face the world alone again.

But the best-laid plans of mice and men and all that jazz.

And if I’d had it all to do again, the only thing I would have changed is I would have tried to take in more of the joy that we had.

A mental snapshot of every smile, laugh, and gesture to flip through like a scrapbook in the times when it felt overwhelming.

And there had been so very many happy moments.

But we were young and thought we were immortal, as all young people do.

Harry’s father had died young, but that wouldn’t happen to us because we were too happy to let something like death stop us.

I let out a heavy sigh at the thought. If he were here, he would smooth my worried forehead with a kiss, spreading the lines with his fingertips to make me laugh if the kiss didn’t do the trick.

You don’t need to worry, he’d whisper. I’m not going anywhere .

And wrapped in his strong arms, I could believe that.

But in the end, our love was no more a match for death than anyone else’s.

Bobby mumbled in his sleep—a trait he got from his father—and I leaned over to kiss his forehead, a gesture I repeated with Susie before snuggling into my pillow.

“Good night, Harry,” I whispered as I did every night.

I no longer told him what he had missed each day—a habit that likely hurt more than it helped.

But we were firm believers in not going to bed upset with each other, and I had found I couldn’t sleep if I didn’t say good night. Whether he could hear me or not.