Grieving

Grief is a strange thing. I've come to learn that there is no typical time frame for when it starts or ends.  I'm not even sure if it ever truly stops. Case in point: a picture popped up in my Facebook memories recently, and out of nowhere I broke into tears. I was caught off guard, but something I've been struggling with finally made sense.

The beauty on the right is my Auntie. She died two years ago. We were only 6 years apart in age, and in many ways, she was like a big sister to me. Among other things, we shared a love of the Seattle Seahawks. This picture was taken on January 18, 2015. We went away for the weekend to celebrate birthdays for my mom and my daughter at a local casino. While my mom and daughter played slot machines, Auntie and I watched the Seahawks clinch their Superbowl bid in a nail-biter of a game against the Green Bay Packers. We typically spent game days at our separate homes, texting each other frantically throughout the game. This was the only time that she and I watched a game together in person, and it will be a memory I will cherish forever. 

Like any good sports fan, Auntie and I had rituals that we lived by when it came to our beloved Seahawks. We participated in "Blue Fridays" - wearing Seahawks blue to support the team on what coach Pete Carroll likes to call "the day before the day before." We would text pictures to each other of what we were wearing or send a confirmatory text, "Are you repping Blue Friday?" On game day, Auntie would have a vanilla latte in the morning and a bowl of mixed nuts on hand during the game. She had a specific Seahawks t-shirt that she considered her "lucky t-shirt," so if we had a tough opponent that week, she would be sure to wear her "mean guy" shirt - a cartoon image of a Seahawks player with an angry face. Our team rarely makes it easy on their fans. Most games come down to the final minutes and involve a lot of taking the lead and then losing the lead. I developed a habit of plowing through a bag of sunflower seeds during the games, cracking shell after shell to save my fingernails and ease my anxiety. We would text each other before kickoff: 

Me: Are you wearing the mean guy shirt?  Got your latte and nuts close by?

Auntie: Yes!  Are you ready for kick-off?  Do you have your seeds?  

And this is how we would launch into every game. For the next 3 hours, we would be texting game commentary back and forth: "BAM BAM KAM!" and "Where's the O-line?" and the occasional "Shut the F* up" directed to the commentators. (Auntie was not a fan of many of the NFL commentators, but she particularly took aim at Cris Collinsworth, Joe Buck, and Troy Aikman, who she felt never gave the Seahawks the respect they deserved.)

On Sunday, October 28, 2018, the Seahawks were going up against the Detroit Lions with a 10 am start time. I sent my typical pre-game text a few minutes before kick-off. No response. I sent a comment following the first big play of the game. No response. I tried to call her. No answer. Something didn't feel right. I called my mom and asked if she had talked to my aunt, her baby sister, that morning. Mom said she had spoken to her the day before and that Auntie hadn't been feeling well. Mom had tried to convince her to go to the ER, but my aunt could be stubborn. My mom ended up calling my Auntie's son, who lived close by. He drove over to her house and had the unfortunate experience of discovering she had passed. We were all numb. 

A month later, family and friends gathered in their Seahawks gear to honor her life in the only way we knew how - watching the Seahawks overcome the Carolina Panthers with a field goal as the clock ran out.  The rest of that football season is a complete blur.

 

                                            Great turnout!                            My Auntie

My little family at the memorial

I dove into the 2019 football season "in her honor." I watched every game and had "conversations" with her and about her. I would yell at the commentators on my Auntie's behalf. I would say to my husband, "Auntie would have loved that play" or "I can hear my Auntie cussing all the way from heaven." I also joined a family fantasy football league, and the ability to banter with them over text each weekend helped to fill the massive void. The season didn't end well for the Seahawks, but, like many seasons before it, I felt hopeful about what would come.

And then COVID hit.

Lockdowns, delays, mandatory social distancing, and masks. Everything about 2020 was different, and football was no exception. As the 2020 season approached, I was having a difficult time summoning my enthusiasm for football. At the last minute, I backed out of the family fantasy league. Games started, and I found a million reasons not to watch them. 

I blamed my malaise on the stress of the global pandemic. My husband is immunocompromised and is in the high-risk category. We put ourselves into lockdown weeks before the rest of the world. While I have always worked from home, he transitioned to remote working in early March, which was an adjustment for both of us. Before COVID, we had rich and busy lives, filled with friends and family and travel. Everything came to a screeching halt. This is not unique to us. But for me, at least, the isolation and lack of busyness have allowed things that have been put on a back burner to come into the light. Things like grief. 

This is the puzzle piece that finally fell into place for me about why I have not been able to embrace football this year. It wasn't COVID. The pandemic contributed, but it wasn't the cause. The cause was grief.  I powered through the first season without her because that's what I do when I'm in crisis - push through, look for a quick solution to get me through the tough moment, and deal with the bigger feelings when the crisis is over. The pandemic provided the slowdown for me to finally process the loss of my Auntie. 

Ironically, after my meltdown over the Facebook memory, I was busying myself by doing some organizing (another strategy of mine to avoid the inevitable), and I came across a notebook where I had written a memorial to my aunt. My cousin had asked me to write up something to share at her memorial. It turned out that they didn't need me to speak, but I held on to the draft of what I had come up with. This is an excerpt:

I am honored to be asked to share a few thoughts about this special person. Daughter, sister, mother, aunt, grandmother, coworker, friend, I am sure everyone in this room knew a slightly different Annette.  The Auntie I knew was most proud of these 3 accomplishments: her 2 amazing children and, by extension, her 3 grandchildren; earning her college degree; and the fact that she had recently been named Seattle Seahawks Coach Pete Carroll's #1 fan on Facebook.  

My Auntie was an avid Husky football fan. She would have been overjoyed by the Apple Cup results this week.  She was a diehard Seahawks fan that never missed a game. After almost losing her 4 years ago, she and I developed a weekly routine of texting each other during Seahawks games. No matter how grim things looked, she never gave up on her team. When I moved to live streaming the games, there was a slight time delay. She would see plays before me, and she quickly learned to say things like "get ready" or "you won't believe it." She didn't want to spoil it for me.  The Auntie I knew was thoughtful like that. She was enthusiastic and loyal and supportive.

She could also be annoyingly controlling and negative and strong-willed. She liked things her way. Sometimes her stubbornness drove me crazy. But she had a smile that could light up a room. She had a great sense of humor and an infectious laugh. While she sometimes struggled to express it, she loved deeply. This is the Annette I was lucky enough to know, and I will miss her terribly. 

I recently read an article on the topic of grief, "That Discomfort You're Feeling is Grief."  While it primarily focuses on the grief many are feeling as a result of the pandemic, it provides excellent advice for moving through grief, starting with identifying it and then learning to accept it.  The author states, "Acceptance, as you might imagine, is where the power lies." 

The 2020 Seahawks season wrapped up recently.  I didn't watch a single Seahawks game. I still can't believe it.  I have no idea how I will feel when the 2021 season starts in August, but I am hopeful that finally identifying and addressing my grief will help me to move forward with my heart and eyes open.