This whole pregnancy thing has made me pretty noastlgic and contemplative lately. One of the things that has been on my mind a lot is my Grandmother Strobel, whom we called "Meama." (Kyle's pronounciation of "grandma" when he was little.) Meama died right before New Year's Eve, 2003 from liver cancer. She had other great-grandkids, so it's not like she didn't get a chance to see any of them, but she won't get the chance to see mine, and I'm finding that really sucks.
Dan got to see Meama twice before she died. Our whole family went out to Chicago that May to see her, which was the first time Dan met her, and then again that October, when we brought her photos of the wedding since she couldn't be there. But I'm mad now that they won't get the chance to enjoy their mutual obsession together: golf.
Until I married Dan, I thought Meama was nuts to tape golf tournaments when she wouldn't be home to watch them live. I couldn't imagine sitting there watching hour after hour of a little white ball hopping around the monotonous stretches of green. Now I watch with Dan all the time and I totally get it, but I can't appreciate it the way he does, because I can't play worth a darn. Meama, on the other hand, was club champion many times over, an avid golfer whose entire social life centered around her country club friends and foursomes. She would have been so happy to have a golf watching friend like Dan. She would have taken him out to the club and showed him off to her friends--she had no problem with bragging about her family to anyone who would listen--and together they would have discussed green speeds, yardage, swing styles, their favorite clubs. I would have been bored out of my mind, but they would have been in their element.
Death just sucks, you know? We say it's natural, part of the circle of life, but really it isn't. We weren't meant to die, remember? Death came from the fall, it wasn't part of the original blueprint, and I think there's still a thread in us that remembers this and knows that it is not natural, that this isn't the way it was originally supposed to be. It's just wrong.
So now I have to settle for memories, and my baby has to settle for second-hand stories. Not fair.