Caught Off Guard

There are moments in grief when I don't know how to navigate the conversation - especially when someone who doesn't know my mom has passed suddenly brings her up. It catches me off guard every time.

Tonight was one of those moments.

I went for a pedicure with my best friend. The salon was small - in the whole place, it was just the two of us, the lady doing our pedicures, and another woman who had just received her pedicure but stuck around to chat. The other woman mentioned that her daughter was being induced and she'd become a grandmother any day now. Naturally, I shared that I'm pregnant too, and the conversation took off from there.

Then came the innocent question, because it was something she had been thinking about for herself a lot, "so what is your mom going to be called? Grandma, Nana, Nanny?"

Pause.

In the span of two seconds, my brain spun out.

Do I tell her my mom died, but she went by Gramma?

Do I spare her the awkwardness and change the subject?

Do I pretend she's still alive and answer in present tense?

Do I talk around it and try to thread a needle between honesty and avoidance?

I chose the last path. I said, "My mom is Gramma, and my dad is Grampa. They spell it that way because it felt younger to them than Grandma and Grandpa." 

And that's true - whether she's here or not. But... it's hard to say. Part of me wants to scream: "My mom is dead. Can't you tell!? Her absence has shattered me!" But no, of course she can't tell. There's no permanent marker written across my forehead. And I'm young enough that people just assume my parents are both still alive. In fact, later in the conversation, this grandmother-aged woman mentioned that her mom is still alive - so it likely never even crossed her mind that mine might not be.

I felt okay with the way I handled the situation. I live eight hours away from the city, and will likely never see either of them again. It didn't feel right - or necessary - to share something so personal with strangers I just met.

But then, the almost-grandma said something that hit me in the gut: "We don't truly understand or appreciate our moms until we become mothers ourselves." 

And oh, how I wanted to say, "Or if they die."

But I didn't. By then, it felt like too much time had passed in the conversation to suddenly insert that truth. And honestly, I wasn't up for pouring my heart out to someone I'd just met.

Still... that moment caught me off guard. Grief has a way of doing that - sneaking into every day moments, catching you mid-pedicure, mid-sentence, mid-laugh. And suddenly you're standing at the edge of a familiar ache, trying to decide what to say... and what to carry quietly, just for yourself.