Nostalgia's a Bitch
nos·tal·gia
/näˈstaljə,nəˈstaljə/
1: the state of being homesick: HOMESICKNESS
2: a wistful or excessively sentimental yearning for a return to or of some past period
or irrecoverable condition
Let me tell you about my favorite place in the whole wide world – a place where the mosquitoes are awful, the spiders are everywhere, and there’s no air conditioning. There are no ceilings on any of the rooms, so sleeping in is unheard of, and there’s no water or heat if you plan on visiting any time after November. But it’s also a place full of childhood memories - of beautiful sunrises and air that smells like pine trees and fresh lake water. It’s a magical place that I swear is actual heaven on earth.
It was also my mom’s favorite place.
And it is a place that leaves me homesick, wishing to go back to simpler, happier times.
Over Labor weekend, we headed up to “the hut” for a weekend of fun. It’s been a hot minute since I have been up there for a real vacation, so I was BEYOND excited. The forecast called for perfect fall mornings and evenings with a sprinkle of sunshine during the day that made it just warm enough to enjoy a long boat ride with a cocktail (errr OK…lots of cocktails).
But despite the excitement I felt for the weekend ahead, I was also secretly terrified at the thought of visiting mom’s “happy place” without her for the first time. Almost every memory I have of our tiny little cottage has her in it – from pontoon rides and grill-outs to wine nights and endless games of Yahtzee – she was always there laughing and loving life. God, she loved that place.
My heart was also conflicted on the drive up to Eagle River because I knew, at some point, the weekend would be consumed with a bleak heaviness as we fulfilled mom’s wish to have her ashes spread in the one place that she loved most. After everything our family has been through, the thought of having to say goodbye to her all over again seemed damn near impossible.
We had initially planned on tackling this monstrous feat over Memorial Day weekend 2019 – but it just felt too soon. None of us were ready to acknowledge that she was gone – much less hold what was left of her in our hands and watch her disappear among the waves lapping at the shore. To be honest – I don’t think any of us truly felt ready on that cold Sunday afternoon just a few weeks ago either. But the truth is – there is no right time. None of these experiences are ones that we chose – so it’s pointless to wait for a moment that feels “good” because, in truth, it never will.
Each of us misses mom in different ways – and each one of us processes and deals with that pain in different ways. But the one thing that we all agreed upon was how we were going to fulfill mom’s last wish.
- Tear Sheddin’
- Memory Sharin’
- Dock Sittin’
- Regal Brau Sippin’
Saying goodbye that afternoon was hard. I’ll leave it at that. I was not prepared to reach my hand into her urn that first time and find that what I was holding in my hand was not what I had assumed it would be – soft, campfire-like ash. Instead, I found myself cradling coarse sand-link ashes with bits of bone scattered throughout. Coming to terms with the fact that the bright, happy, larger-than-life mom I knew was now just handfuls of dust cupped between my tiny hands was heartbreaking. All I kept thinking was, how did we end up here in this moment? How is this OK?
And it’s not OK. But it is what it is, and there is nothing I can do to change it.
I read somewhere that “grief is not a problem to be solved but an experience to be carried,” and that is something I have been trying to come to terms with over these last few months. That no matter how hard I try to get past the heartbreak that I succumb to every single morning, there is no escaping it. There is no fixing this nightmare – so I simply must learn to endure it. Embrace the pain but also try to remember the good when I can. I often have to remind myself that I am allowed to feel this pain because it is real.
The nostalgic feelings for the past, the yearning to go back to my life that once was just serves as a reminder that she was here, and she was everything.
