Postcards of Grief

Mourning is a process.

Comments on breast cancer by proxy, written by a woman coping with the loss of her mother.

Wednesday, December 07, 2005

Showering people

The shower was great. My father arrived Friday afternoon, and we ate pizza and sat around bullshitting Friday evening. Saturday morning, we had a brief visit from Paul, Hannah, and Brock while Brooke and Hope made for the shower site to get things ready. After being laid up for a week, my pulled pelvic muscle was nearly healed, so I spent Saturday afternoon milling around, greeting people, and generally having a good time.

We got so, so much stuff. Brooke and I are so unbelievably lucky to have so many people in our lives who want to shower us with things for our baby. Highlights include: a super soft green and pink blanket with raised dots, side-snap tiny baby shirts (so the umbilical cord isn’t irritated by buttons), a fat stack of board books (including one that chirps), and the bunting that my MIL made for Brooke before she was born.

Years before any of us were trying to have kids, my mother bought a tiny sweater at a yarn shop near our family’s cabin. When Hope was pregnant with Hannah, Mom gave it to her with the instruction that it be passed on to me. So much time had passed that I had completely forgotten about the sweater. Hope murmured to me as I started opening gifts that there was a card in the bag, plus a card on top of one of the packages explaining that gift. I read the card. I opened the package. I smiled and thanked Hope.

I was fine until something prompted me to tell my Aunt M that the white sweater vest with the wooden button shaped like a bear was from my mom. Others were confused. Hope told the guests about the sweater and my mother’s request.

Hope said it’s not a baby shower unless something makes us cry. I cried.


At 8:26 AM, Anonymous Smithie said...

I cried, too, and I wasn't even there.


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