Grief

I was about 7, so the summer of 1987. Grandma was pretty healthy here. We all were... look at those tans! We were visiting Clinton for the summer then. We lived in Pensacola, Florida at the time.

My Grandma died 20 years ago today, September 9, 1989. Last year I spent this entire day marveling over my almost 6 week old baby. I cried about how he would never know my Munga (the name I came came up with that meant everything Grandma.) She was the best grandma and a little girl's best friend.

I am surprised that I actually still feel so raw inside. I cry at the thought of her. The amount of physical pain this loss still causes never fails to amaze me. It hurts to breathe. When my mind wanders today, my hearts races and my chest tightens. The tears overflow and I cannot stop them, no matter how hard I try. It's like an anxiety attack. I am overwhelmed.
And it's been 20 years...

When I pray, I pray to God first, then I pray to my grandma to put in a good word for me. When I feel that all is lost, I pray only to her. When we were trying so hard to have a baby, I asked her over and over if it was meant to be and would she please try and help.

If I feel like this, I wonder how my mom manages to get through everyday.

I only hope that Weston has his Grammy longer than I had mine. I know that he loves her as much as I loved mine. The thought of us losing my mother is more than I can bear.

I have often been told that I resemble my Grandma in many ways - we have the same lips, tend to chew our food the same, squint our eyes when we smile. She used to tell me that my nose was like a little ski slope (as she "ski'd" right off it with her index finger.) And I remember her calling me "Pumpkin."

Mary Jane Smith, about 7 or 8 years old, so around 1936 or so.

Around the age of 18 or 20, she wasn't generally this serious as a grandma, but I know that her childhood was not easy and that she wasn't able to go to school after the 8th grade because she needed to work. I always remember her as being incredibly smart. She knew everything and always helped with homework, etc. I like to think I was a precocious 9 yr old, but she always kept me on my toes!

Kissing my Grandpa on the Front Porch... I don't know if they were married yet, but they were in love. And they loved each other until they died. My grandpa, Harold Stahl, was 52 (or 53) when he died of a heart attack. I never knew him, nor was he able to meet my dad, but thanks to my mom and Grandma, I always felt like we knew him.

Me and Munga on the USS Saratoga, my Dad's ship (around 1986 I think.) We got to go on a voyage once. It was pretty cool. She looks a little beaten up here. This round of chemo took her hair and it was too windy for the wig.
Cancer is a real bitch.