Always something there to remind me: a purely selfish post about grief.In this past week, Nirvana was announced as a Rock and Roll Hall of Fame inductee and I threw an empty Body Shop tea tree oil toner in the recycling.
This week, my daughter continued her study of the life of Kurt Cobain, and a memorial was held for my friend Carrie.
Right now, in another window, Pinterest wants me to invite Carrie Brown to join.
As you can tell, this post is not just selfish but disjointed, and it doesn't even touch on the greatest griefs of my life. But that's kind of the thing. Grief is selfish and disjointed and sometimes follows a trajectory that makes no sense.
Last November, my friend Carrie, who had been diagnosed with Stage 4 ovarian cancer one year before, was packing up to move to California where her family could care for her. I drove the 2 1/2 hours to help her mom pack, and to see her before she left the beautiful state of Washington.
I think I knew then that it would be for good, though no one would think to speak it.
When we were packing up, her mom was going to throw away some half empty bottles of toiletries, and I offered to take them and use them up. The bottle of toner was the last thing we used up, the only thing to outlive Carrie.
When I assigned my daughter the book Cobain as part of her rock history course, she said it would be too sad to read. I was brought back to the day Kurt died, and how my husband walked down the hill to meet me at work and tell me. As young, Seattle area denizens of the early 90's, it was all so close. We all felt like we'd lost a brother.
I remembered this November, this first weekend of November, standing at the transit center with my 11 year old, freezing in my Green Lantern costume, reading facebook on my phone, hiding my emotions, as a group of people from every corner of America and Canada held Carrie in love as her not unexpected but somehow still shocking death unfolded.
Today, I saw a Nativity it Goodwill that reminded my of my Gram's. I did not buy it. My children have grown up with the Nativity I bought my first year on my own. That is OUR memory.
That;s how grief is.It follows a strange trajectory, and it drags you along for the ride. And no matter how close or how distant. something will always remind you of those who have gone before us, and often at the strangest times.