Thank you to all who have expressed your condolences in comments and calls both public and private. I write this blog as an outlet for the jibberish in my head and as a tool to share photos of the kids. It is a joy to come to know you, even if only through this medium. It’s not that I forget I have readers, it’s just that I’m stood still by the compassion that can be shown from folks whom I only know through the internet. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

It’s a tough week emotionally. The first reason, obviously, is the death of my grandfather on Sunday. Jennifer and I had organized everything the night before because Sunday was going to be a big day with church plus leaving the kids in the church nursery, plus going out to her parents’, plus managing naps away from home, plus trying to get them to eat surrounded by too many strangers at Easter lunch, plus getting home in time for bedtime routine. So when the kids went down for their morning nap, I went ahead and packed up the car, including my cell phone. Which is why I didn’t answer any of the 5 calls that came in within a span of two hours- all from my mother. It wasn’t until 10:30 that I began listening to the first voice mail when the phone rang again and it was my mom telling me that my grandfather had passed away at 9:26 a.m. As I’m listening, my left brain was throwing punches at my right brain saying “don’t cry. stay strong. you’re not wearing smudgeproof eyeliner.” And this was one moment when I was grateful for Jennifer’s Starbucks addiction because right there in the glove box was a napkin for me to dab with.

Jen offered to go home, but I didn’t really see the reason, so we kept driving. We had gone early to give ourselves time with the kids IN the nursery before going to service. They haven’t been too keen on staying with anyone besides our nanny, Matou, or Mommy. And I can tell you Jennifer and I often wonder where we rank in their preference. All that planning, however, didn’t help. They were on to us, and we had to leave them crying. It gave me a cover to do the same.

Easter service was nice. There was a huge thunderstorm that passed through, causing the lights to flicker and the copper roof to crackle and pop. The music and sermon were beautiful, but I cried intermittently, uncontrollably, and unpredictably with my now falling-apart Starbucks napkin constantly at my face. People around us probably thought “awww, she’s so moved by Easter, look how much she loves Jesus,” but in reality it was hard to focus on the joy when every other word in Easter service is DEATH, DEATH, DEATH, TOMB, DYING, DEATH, DYING.

My grandfather was something else, I tell you. Always laughing or making a joke. He would say “call me on my cell phone because I don’t know where I’ll be.” I know people half his age that complain about cell phones and how they don’t know how to use them. He was on the golf course as often as possible (though I think the one in Small Town, Texas doubles as a cow pasture half a year and desert the other). There are so many stories, I wouldn’t even know where to begin. And I shouldn’t right now, since I still don’t have the smudge-proof stuff. He was diagnosed only a couple months ago, but succumbed quickly. The cancer itself was treatable, but when combined with diabetes, old age, and chemotherapy, it became too much for his body. Honestly, I think he would have lived longer without treatment. My grandfather has always been about quality AND quantity. He loved his full head of hair, loved to paint and draw, loved golf. And once treatment began, he lost the ability to do those things. Cancer is cruel like that. It was then that I knew it wouldn’t be long.

Though I would love for Jennifer and the kids to be with me, it would be a logistical nightmare: driving would take an entire day (it’s a 6 hour drive from here without kids/diaper changes/feedings). If we flew, we’d be broke. The rosary will occur during bedtime. The funeral will occur during a nap. And if there is one thing I am inflexible about, it’s their sleep because it will make or break the rest of the day and usually half of the next. Jennifer could fly out with me and we’d still be broke, and be broker because we’d have to pay for overnight care for the twins. So, yeah, the smartest thing is for me to go alone. And by the time this post gets published, I’ll be in the air.

I will be flying out on Wednesday after a half-day of work, arriving in one city, and hitching a ride to Small Town, Texas in time for the wake and the rosary. The mass and burial will be on Thursday, April 16. After the reception, I’ll hitch a ride back to San Antonio and catch a flight back home, arriving at 8:30 p.m on the 16th. It’s too short a trip when I consider how I feel I’m failing my mom by not being there for her longer. The appearance that I’m just rushing in for the services, check in with the extended family, hugs, kisses, tears, and head back home. But it’s the best I can do what with the responsibility of my children and family and that increasingly unstable job situation. I hate it when my best isn’t good enough.

And while I’m thinking about it, write a will. It is the single most important document you’ll ever have. And it is the most selfless gift you can give to those you’ll leave behind. In all his greatness, my grandfather was exceptionally stubborn and he refused to write one. I am lovingly pissed off about that. Assets freeze, everything has to go through probate, loved ones have to simultaneously mourn while scrambling for funds for burial. Sadness and pain often manifests itself in the form of survivors bickering over tangible objects. It’s just plain unnecessary. When you don’t write a will, the state and the courts effectively decide what goes where. The family has almost no say. So bow up, people.

April 16 is also MATEO AND HARPER’S FIRST BIRTHDAY.

And I won’t see them AT ALL that day due to travel.

That’s the other emotionally difficult thing this week. It’ll be harder on me than it is on them. And I know I’m being all sentimental about it and that they won’t remember it and all that. But I will, and it leaves me a little bit nauseated. You wouldn’t think you could have the wind knocked out of you when your chest is already hollow feeling, but it can.

Around March some time, I began thinking about the kids’ birthday and the post I would write. And as I got to thinking about it, I’d get to crying. Why, one might ask? I’ll be able to explain it better sometime in the next. . .Never.

In memory of my grandfather, I’ve set the post to publish at approximately the same time as my grandfather’s burial, which is approximately the same time as their birth a year prior – their birthday forever shared with the great-grandfather they never got to meet.

Oh, but the stories we’ll tell.

Advertisements