Memorial

Most anyone who has spent time in the “service industry” knows that being “in the weeds” means that you are so far behind you just can’t seem to catch up.

Maybe it is my “server” perspective, but my life recently (okay, truthfully, almost always, ha) feels “in the weeds” – and, as if to punctuate that point, I am sitting here covered in Calamine goo, while poison ivy laps it up with a snide smile (a not-so-subtle middle finger to my attempt at a green thumb this Spring).

It almost seems to enjoy the negative attention… the way my four-year-old does lately. And I can almost hear It cackle as I go to nurse my nearly two-year-old son… sitting in the night, with my writhing boy latched to my chest, thinking itchy thoughts that I can’t “scratch” without “waking a sleeping giant” – the metaphor is almost as thick as the lotion.

Grating thoughts… like, it happens to be Memorial Day, but instead of being able to feel grateful to the servicemen and women of our beautiful country, I am thinking of my dearest Gram, who just passed away (although she was a Navy widow, so perhaps that counts?). Mourning her is what I am learning to call an “on-growing process” – which at least makes it feel like forward momentum.

I was unable to attend her memorial service. It was in California, on Mother’s Day, but the timing and expense of an impromptu trip there was not one our family could afford. I was caving into sadness, when, just as that milestone slipped out of reach, another showed up that day to take its place…

The day actually started out better than the previous Mother’s Day (where the words “Happy Mother’s Day” stood out as as a starkly solitary “gift” from my family). So, nowhere to go but up this year really, even with missing Gram’s memorial.

Instead, the day dragged me into an unwanted moral dilemma of sorts, when my husband suggested a visit to see his mom.

It was not an unreasonable thing – sharing “my” Mother’s Day… but in the five years that we have been married, he had not asked to visit her and decided that day was the day. I was frustrated, but agreed to make the nearly two-hour drive south (when the four of us had just driven almost that same distance the day before to see another side of his family).

The dilemma? His mother passed away just before we met.

How could any decent person deny such a request? So there I sat, in my cloudy mood, wearing my new “family tree” necklace, taking my two young kids on their first trip to the cemetery on my Mother’s Day.

It took about an hour of brooding to realize that what was making me so upset wasn’t about visiting a headstone (which felt like a millstone) – it was this… this was just another searing reminder of how I hadn’t grown. I hadn’t grown to the point of being able to be a supportive spouse, rather than a needy, validation-seeking partner. I was still so far stuck “in the weeds”.

(I guess I have always been partial to The Parable of the Sower…“The seed falling among the thorns refers to someone who hears the word, but the worries of this life and the deceitfulness of wealth choke the word, making it unfruitful…” – Matthew 13:22)

All at once, I rambled (brambled, ha) this out to my husband as we drove. I only remember his response was compassionate, and reassuring… exactly the kind of admirable spouse who deserves to be lovingly supported.

By the time we reached the cemetery, the cloud had lifted. We delivered flowers to his mother’s grave. We discussed life and death. We walked around holding hands, unceremoniously. We changed clothes after the toddler had a “wee” accident. We saw Grandpa Philip’s grave (my son’s middle namesake). We took pictures. My husband’s caring step-dad joined us. We went out to lunch in the tiny town where he grew up. It was a memorable day, for all the best reasons… a truly fitting memorial for those who most needed remembering.

And, for the first time in a long time, the growth felt hopeful enough to overpower any of the weeds waiting there.