Persevering Paige

The other day, I went to visit with a good friend of mine. If I were to tell you just how good of a friend, well, that would be a story in itself. I can’t begin to summarize our relationship, because it is quite unique. My friend’s name is Ann. Ann Frazier. Ann is, I am not sure of the exact age, but she is in her 90’s. I grew up with her as my next door neighbor, living right across the street from my childhood home. I moved there when I was almost one, and lived there for 10 years. Even after those 10 years, we still kept in touch-as you can see. Ann has known me since before I even knew myself. Ann also knew my parents, both of them, and even their families very well. I grew up always visiting with Ann, I enjoyed as a little girl going over to her house to collect pine cones in her front yard, and then going inside to talk and have Oreos. That was when I was about 5 or 6. I lived across from Ann with my Mom and Dad, and they would take me over to Ann’s and talk to her as well. Ann knew my Dad’s family well, all of his siblings and his parents-because they lived in our house growing up before I did. My favorite stop on Halloween was always Ann’s. She is truly a remarkable woman, I could go on for hours.

Now, I am not 5 or 6, I am 18 almost 19, and as I walked into Ann’s house I was overflown with emotions. A picture in my head from when I was 5 or 6 and going over to her house danced across my mind, and I pictured myself as that same 5 or 6 year old girl, with dirty blonde hair and a wide smile going over to see my neighbor Ann. Only this time I had to drive instead of walk. Every time I visit Ann, she spends hours talking to me about my Mom and Dad, sometimes telling me the same stories each time I visit, but new ones do immerse as well. I think she wants to give me a taste of them for a while, because maybe she can see how much I miss them just by looking at me, or maybe because she just wants me to know that someone out there values my heart enough to want me to know. Anyway, we get to talking, and I’m looking at Ann, fragile as ever and partially wondering how she is still here. It is bittersweet and a pinch of happiness to get to visit and talk with her, but it’s also a thought in the back of my mind like, “one day, and maybe soon, I won’t have her to talk to anymore. Everyone does have an expiration date.” I get sad for a few moments, but then I wash it away by telling myself that Ann is almost immortal, and that she has made it this long, she won’t go anytime soon. 

As we are talking, we get to this one point in the conversation. She is telling me about her adopted grandson (long story) and then she says, “I lost my brother to pancreatic cancer in 95′, and then a few years later we lost his son.” I could see her eyes begin to tear up. She said, “I still miss him. But it’s nothing compared to losing a mother and a father, that isn’t easy” as she looked over to me. I looked at her and swiftly looked away while saying, “Every loss is painful, it doesn’t matter who it is.” 

The conversation brought me to something that I have always strongly believed but just never wanted to face. Many say that time heals all wounds. I strongly and utmostly believe that it does not. You see, what time does, is put scar tissue over the wound. It does not “heal” it. That wound will never completely go away, ever. It will always be there. It just lessens as time goes on. But it will never disappear completely. Love is a force so strong, and grief is the price we pay for love, it is a lifelong process. Those tears in Ann’s eyes of 95 years or more confirmed that for me. I think that what I just stated, scares a lot of people and they don’t want to accept that as the truth but it is, it is. And as close of friends as grief and I have become I am almost compelled to say it. As I sat on Ann’s couch, I felt like a girl that would always be burdened by a broken heart and a record player of memories in her mind. As I looked out of her window and onto green hills overlapping each other, a few butterflies, flowers, and a blue sky, I was given hope that one day I would take control of my life and my heart and my mind and feel okay, but I still wasn’t completely sure. 

What I am sure of is that there is no right or wrong way to grieve. Everyone is different and it although it never completely goes away, people get to different stages at different times than others. You will have good days and you will have bad days. And while everyone grieves differently, there is a such thing as positive and negative grief. Positive grief is confronting it, even on your worst days when your heart is aching-and filling your hurt with •positive• things to make you feel better. These things can be anything. Loud music, that when you listen to you feel invincible and that you can conquer the world. That’s okay and if it helps, do it. Visiting old friends, church, exercising, making frequent trips up to cemeteries to talk to loved ones, listening to yourself, and adding in positive things to better your life, and yourself. 

Negative grief is the opposite. Negative grief is not confronting the hurt, and digging yourself deeper into a hole away from getting back to feeling better and being truly happy. When we are so upset we think that filling out lives with drugs, alcohol, and rebelling against those that love you will fix the hurt. And it might, but for a short time and in the end it only makes you feel worse. The negative way of grieving looks tempting and good, but it is really just what I said, negative and angry, and will not get you to the healing place you are so desperately searching for. 

I write for myself, but to also share what I have learned with others in hope to help someone who might take something valuable from this. Even in your darkest moments, there is always a light. Breath, and embrace the good days, my friend. They make it worthwhile…I thought, as a cat nudged up against my leg and I reached over to have a sip of my Coke. 

“Your mother…” Ann continued.