I was making pancakes for the boys this morning at Oscar's request. Miles got into the pantry and dumped a box of rotini on the floor and began methodically placing each noodle back into the box. This is a pretty normal occurrence, and I'll gladly sacrifice a $2 box of pasta any day if it means I can cook without Miles between my feet.
I went to grab something from the pantry and I crunched a piece of pasta beneath my feet and I was overwhelmed with the feeling of loss, but not my own loss; the loss of others in our family. I wondered, how do you say goodbye to someone you've loved and greeted each day with for more than 5 decades? To the person who birthed you and fed you and raised you and taught you right and wrong? To the person who grew up beside you and bickered with you and tattled on you and loved you still?
Just now, I was frantically searching for photos of her with my boys. I have a beautiful one of her and Oscar at Oscar's first Christmas. She loved my boys. I am so grateful for the way she loved my boys.
I can't find a photo of her with Miles. I remember vividly when they met. She came to my in-laws house by herself, very unusual for her, for the specific reason of meeting Miles William. We named Miles for her own son who died quite tragically a few weeks before Oscar was born.
She had to wait to hold him; he was nursing. He nursed for close to an hour and she waited. Once I passed him over to her she held him for hours. Maybe two hours. She was already sick then, and I remember worrying he was to heavy and offering to take him, but she refused. She held him and rocked him and snuggled him and sniffed his head.
Do I have a picture of this moment? I want to have one. I hope I do. But it's different with the second child. You forget to bring the camera. You don't feel the need to document every moment of his life. If there is no photo, my memory will have to suffice. That really doesn't feel good enough right now, but I supposed it will have to be.