A Question I Can’t Answer: Who Tells The Little Ones?

For those who know me personally, to say I am outspoken is sometimes an understatement.  Never at a loss for words, I tend to speak without thinking, blurting my opinions for anyone who cares to listen.  Today however, I am without words.  I sit here, for the 4th day in a row trying to figure out answers to mine and probably so many other’s questions.  For the 4th day in a row, I sit here, dazed, wondering how exactly you explain to two little girls that their mother is not coming back.

I am not foreign to death.  Though I have been blessed enough to still have my parents and my brother, I have experienced loss.  I have seen how death can rip lives apart, while simaltenously uniting others.  My own personal experiences of death stem from losing grandparents as a young child and a friend as a teen.

Though I barely grasped the concept of death at 7 years old, I have a very distinct memory of walking downstairs to see my mom crying one morning.  As I climbed into her lap, questioning her tears, she didn’t try to hide it, but simply said “I miss my mom,” “I just want my mom back.”  For me, that was a pivotal point in understanding the “forever gone” reality.  And so, I just sat with my mom, while she cried for her own mom.  It was the first real time I saw an adult grieve for their parent.

Later, in highschool, my close knit circle of friends experienced a loss that literally changed the dynamic of our high school experience.  Losing Bridget, was and is to date one of the hardest things I, and many others, have ever dealt with.  One Wednesday night she was making silly faces at me across the booth at Friendly’s and the next day she was gone forever.  By this point, I wasn’t a child, I understood what it meant to die, but I still didn’t understand why.  Why would God take someone so young?  What reason was there?  I watched her family mourn the loss of their youngest daughter, knowing nothing I or any of us did, could ever soothe their pain.  It was the first real time I saw parents grieve for their child.

I have had friends my age that have lost their parents… most younger than my own parents.  While mourning their loss and really not being able to understand their pain, I selfishly feared losing my own parents.  When that day comes, I don’t even know how I will pull myself out of bed.  Watching the growth, pain and evolution of my friends, I have now seen young adults grieve for their parents.

But all of this is to say, that today, I am without words.  Today I don’t get it.  My well worn mantra of “everything happens for a reason” makes no sense to me today.  Today, as I did yesterday, and the day before that and on Friday when I found out about Nancy in the middle of decorating our Christmas tree, I can’t understand what it is like for 2 little girls to grieve, let alone understand that their mom is gone forever.  For all of my other experiences with loss, the answers here elude me.  Maybe it’s because now I am a mother.  Perhaps, it is me being selfish again- thinking about myself and my daughter.  Who would tell Kennedy?  How would they tell Kennedy?  Would she ask about me every day until one day she just… didn’t?  I pray for Nancy’s whole family…she was a daughter, a sister and a friend.  But I ache for her daughters.  2 small, unknowing, innocent, little girls who will never see their mom again, or her amazing cakes she made them or the costumes she put together.  The mom, who without missing a step allowed her daughters to be fiercely independent and choose their own way even at such a young age.  Be who you want to be seemed to be Nancy’s mantra and she walked the talk every day.

And so again, here I am, wondering… how do you do it?  I’m sure there are books to help explain. But does a child really want to read a damn book when they have just lost their mother?  I DON’T KNOW!  I, at 27 years old, can’t seem to grasp any of these concepts, so how can a child?  It makes me feel like a teen again, angry, for what the reasoning could be.  WHAT COULD BE THE POINT OF TAKING A LOVING MOTHER FROM 2 LITTLE GIRLS!?  And then someone else is left to clean up the mess of explaining things out of their control or comprehension.  It just doesn’t make sense.

None of these things, I have an answer for.  What I do know is that it takes a village to raise a child.  On your very best day of parenting you still need “your people” to help make sense of this world.  And if anyone ever needed their village people, Nancy was the first in line, cake in hand (to either pie you in the face or dazzle you with her creativity), ready to help lead the good fight.  If Nancy can no longer be here, then we, her village, must step up and wrap those girls in love, support, memories and laughter.  No, it’s not our job to be the one to tell them, forever means forever, and God Bless the person who actually has to do that.  But we can be there to lend a softer landing.  We can be there to make sure Nancy’s laughter and smile never dim.

For anyone reading this that has lost a loved one, I pray for and with you.  We all know you never get over it.  Though you never move on, you learn to move forward.  I still to this day say “Goodnight Bridget” every night before I go to sleep.  Maybe it’s a habit at this point, but I’ll take any daily connection, habit or not, and it brings me comfort.  For anyone reading this that knows Nancy personally, I grieve with you.  Abasi and I are very saddened and shocked.  We are sad because we cannot be there with everyone to mourn her passing and celebrate her life that she lived so well.  We hope you feel our prayers and love wrapping around you today as you say goodbye and every day after, as we build a strong community around Audrey and Charlotte in any way we can.  For some of us, where distance mocks us, the positive thoughts and prayers must suffice for now.  For anyone that can donate monetarily, you can go to this site <3Nancy and help the family with costs.

Thank you for the memories you gave us Nancy.  The laughter, the friendships, the moments we all hold dear will not soon fade.  A life gone way to soon, but lived fully nonetheless.  I hope you rest peacefully, though watch out Heaven, because she is Hell on Wheels.  Finally, I know how fiercely you loved your girls.  The only positive out of this is that Audrey and Charlotte will have the biggest angel of all guiding and protecting them through every day life.  We will be your foot soldiers.  Though we probably cannot match your shine… we will carry on your smile, stories and shenanigans.  Rest peacefully Nancy, it is goodbye for now, but not forever.