Grief and Grace

As my family and I near the one year anniversary of my grandmother's passing, someone reminded me that this week could be extra difficult and that I should give myself an extra dose of grace. She asked me, "What is grace to you?" I was stumped to answer because we use the word so frequently that I was struggling to find the words to describe it. I eventually blurted out something like, "Giving myself the freedom to feel and experience whatever may come." Grieving has been a very interesting journey for me, not knowing what I'm supposed to feel or wondering if I feel anything at all, while watching my loved ones grieve in their own ways. There are days when I have felt guilty for not thinking of her at all, while other times I've felt saddened remembering her last days, and yet still smiling because of all the ways she brought joy to my life. One thing that I find myself frequently saying is, "Grandma would have loved this/that about Madeline." I can even envision her watching Madeline's present actions and laughing out loud at her boisterous and spirited acts. I've also heard that the second year of grieving can be even harder than the first - I just hope that this numbness will eventually wear off. I know she's really gone, but somehow can't allow my heart and mind to accept the new reality.

those darn shots!

I took Madeline to the doctor this morning (which she absolutely hates, until she gets her lollipop on the way out) for her two year old check-up. She was measured at 33 1/2 inches tall and 25 3/4 lbs. She is in perfect health all the way around, which is always nice to hear. And the doctor is very pleased with her verbal and other developmental skills. The worst part was having to hold her tight while she got a shot. Plus they sent us down the hall to the lab to get her blood drawn, which was a nightmare because they couldn't find her vein! I felt so terrible, almost crying myself, as she screamed and cried in my arms and all I could do was empathize with her pain, letting her know that I knew it hurt and it was almost finished. On the way home, she was calmly licking both of her lollipops (one for each battle wound) and said, "Shot hurt...Mommy lovies." She was recalling the experience to me with such simple words, but they meant the world to me, knowing that even though she experienced great pain she also acknowledged that I was there comforting her. I hate those darn shots, but at least Maddie doesn't hate me for helping the nurse give them to her.