Early this morning Lexi gave birth to our grandson, Colson, after thirty-four hours of labor. Her labor and delivery were similar to Zach’s, our first-born.
I keep asking myself how I can be so happy and so incredibly sad at the same time.
In this moment I should only have joy, and yet I am grieving that you are not here celebrating this amazing gift with me. I can see the look of awe and pride that would be on your face. I can hear your encouraging words—just the right words—for Lexi when she was feeling overwhelmed at times during her labor, and in the days to come. You always knew just what to say. You were always my beacon in the middle of the storms of life. I can hear your gentle, calming voice now as I am sobbing with sorrow.
What is this emotion of anger blended with tremendous sadness—loss? Loss because I’m at a loss for the correct word for this overwhelming feeling? Loss of you not being here by Lexi’s, Colson’s, Ethan’s and my side, guiding us like you always did?
I keep thinking of that moment after Zach was born.
You decided to go home to take a shower and have a bite to eat. I remember waking up and looking over my shoulder to the chair you had been sleeping in, only to realize you were not there. I started crying because I felt an overwhelming sadness that you were not there when I woke up. I felt immensely alone. That is exactly how I feel right now. You are not going to come through that door like you did twenty-seven years ago, coming to me and embracing me, letting me know all is right in the world. You would never leave me—and yet, all these years later, you had to when we had no control over the outcome.
I am frustrated that all these moments that usually would make me happy or content, feeling all is right in the world, are now tainted by this loss and sadness. In these moments I feel further away from you, which causes my grief to come again ten-fold. It affirms that you are not going to be here ever again in flesh and bone, but only as a memory, coming to me through my dreams or through the love messages you send me to know you are here in a different form.
Why should I have to bring our grandson to a cemetery plot to “meet” you?
Why should he see, hear and feel my sadness over the loss of you? Why should he not have had Grandpa-time with you, learning all the amazing things you would have taught him and shown him through your everyday actions? Life has cheated him out of knowing you. This makes me feel heaviness in my heart.
Even though it won’t even come close to what it could be if you were here, your grandson is going to know you. I am going to tell him all about you. The Grandpa Mitch stories will become legendary, because that is what you are to those of us who had the privilege of loving you. I will spoil Colson with all the love I can muster for the two of us.