Monday, August 23, 2010

Seeing Through

This afternoon, I was at home making some homemade banana pudding (had to do something with those too-ripe bananas; I still have enough left over for banana bread, too). In the process of making the custard for the pudding, I found I needed both a wire whisk and a mesh strainer, two of Hudson’s favorite utensils to pull out of the drawers and play with. I examined them, remembering that beautiful, curious creature turning them over and over in her hands, putting them in her mouth to see what she might discover about them. I smiled. I didn’t cry.

Then I decided after my last good experience listening to music in the kitchen without her, maybe I’d try it again. Carolina in My Mind came on. These days, I’d usually immediately skip past it, thinking I wouldn’t be able to bear the sadness that would ultimately come as I remembered singing this song to Hudson all the time when she was much younger, rocking her on my shoulder, rubbing her back in the crib, trying to get her to go to sleep. But I steeled myself and hung in there. And it was OK. I sang along. And I smiled. I didn’t cry.

A few songs later, Kate Bush’s This Woman’s Work was up. It’s hauntingly beautiful and would easily bring me to tears on a happy day even before Hudson died. Since she died, it has taken on a new meaning for me when I think about all the things we’ll never get to do with our girl. I’ve listened to it only once, on the day I last wrote about it. Anytime since then, when just those first few notes were enough to put me on the floor, I’ve quickly and purposely skipped it. Today, I decided not to. As I listened, I tried to focus not on those words that are saddest for me (Give me these moments back…), but the ones that are most hopeful:

         I know you have a little life in you yet.
        I know you have a lot of strength left.

I sang along. And I smiled. And then I cried.

So many of you have offered so many welcome words of encouragement these last few days, days that have again been sadder than usual. You have so much confidence and optimism that someday joy will break through this sorrow, that there is light at the end of this very long dark tunnel, that hope remains even on the most desperate of days. And I know you are right. I KNOW you are right, but some days this omnipresent grief just makes it harder than others to remember that.

So on afternoons like this one, when I can see through the grief even for a moment, I grab on. I may not be able to hold on for very long, but I figured I’d seize the chance to write about it while I could. And then maybe tomorrow, when I’m fogged in and grasping again, I can come read this. And I can remember. And I can smile. And maybe cry. But crying through a smile is surely better than just plain crying.

15 comments:

  1. Mandy, you are what everyone in our family has the potential to be. You are my hero. If I were to live up to only 10 per cent of your capabilities I would consider my life a success. One more day...

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  2. I think crying through a smile is a little like when it rains even though the sun is shining. And the result is a beautiful rainbow.

    Shell

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  3. Thinking of you. Glad to know you are smiling through the pain. And remembering the wonderful times you had together. I can't imagine how painful this must be but what a beautiful tribute to your baby girl. You are much stronger than you give yourself credit for.
    B

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  4. I'm glad there was some smiling today...for me, too. Just for a bit, the weight lifted. Hold on tight to those moments, Mandy...

    Love,
    Judy

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  5. Mandy, that song, that song...I cry with you when I think of that song, for so many reasons. I am so glad you were able to smile today, even if for just a short time. Much love.

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  6. Mandy,
    How wonderful that you had the smiles today. Hudson was surely shining through your face. May your days of smiles come closer together, and may the grief be tamed by happy memories. I send big hugs from a virtual friend.
    Claire

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  7. Oh, Mandy, we all smile and cry with you, and know that over and over those good, sweet times with your precious daughter will bring smiles and tears to you. Working thru your grief is not forgetting, but remembering with less pain. Hoping for less pain for you as you recall these wonderful memories of Hudson. That is one good thing...Sending love...JoAnn

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  8. Mandy,

    I smiled as I read your post last night...honestly, it's been a while since I have been able to smile while reading one of your posts, rather than cry. As you smile, we are cheering you on. As your friends, we want nothing more than for you and Ed to feel happiness again. May you continue to smile through your tears until one day, you find yourself smiling more often than crying. That's what sweet Hudson Lily would want for her courageous Mama.

    Love,
    Shabnam

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  9. Yes, yes, yes! You have so much strength, Mandy, and you honor Hudson with every moment.

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  10. This is wonderful and is probably the best you can hope for right now - to have moments of joy, or at least moments that are not overwhelming sadness and grief. Your loss is so huge and the healing process is so slow. Moments are what it's all about.

    Susan H.

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  11. I'm smiling at your description of Hudson examining the whisk and strainer.

    Then I played the Kate Bush song. And then I cried. I'm just so terribly sorry.

    I hope that your moments of being able to see through your grief will grow longer and more frequent.

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  12. I keep thinking of the moment you described -- in the kitchen at the end of hearing what I think of as Hudson's theme from Rent -- and asking Ed for "Mo? Mo?" That image just wrenches me in two. If there were ever a portrait to describe to us on the outside what is going on in your heart, I think that's it. I am so glad *this* post describes how you can take those moments of potential pain and still see the joy through your tears. I think, unfortunately, joy and pain often are inextriably intertwined in the deepest matters of the heart.

    Wishing you and Ed, as always, more joy than pain, more peace than trouble and enough love to calm the storms in your soul.

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  13. I'm so glad you had some good moments yesterday Mandy. Those moments will turn into hours, then days and weeks and months soon enough, I hope. And I know sometimes it will seem that every good moment takes you a little further away from Hudson, but it doesn't. She will always live in your heart whether you are happy or sad, and I believe that the happiness she left with you will always find a way to beat out the sadness. Thinking of you xoxo

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  14. We are right, sweat dear, we really are. While pain will remain, joy will break through. Dum spiro, spero.

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