Different Strokes, All In Good Time

We all process our grief differently.

Certain things are hard for me right now. I mention them to The Pony as we drive to and from school. How I think of Grandma when we go by certain places. Or when I start to watch a Cardinals game, and I remember that I can't call to hear her criticize Mike Matheny the next day. And The Pony always says, "Awwww..."

The Pony doesn't talk much about Grandma. I guess he is handling it the best way he can, for a fellow who doesn't really care about people. Let the record show that he adored his grandma, even though he spent his time ensconced in pillows on the short couch, playing computer games on her high speed internet, her waiting on him hand and foot, every time she asked him to spend the night. And for someone who has no interest in helping people, The Pony sure insisted on carrying in her groceries every time they went to the store.

When she got sick at Thanksgiving, The Pony held out hope that she would get better and be her old self. She made a brief recovery, and he had a couple of good overnights at her house. But we could see in January that she was on the decline. The Pony, always a quiet kid, grew quieter.

Tuesday, we headed out to her house to check on things and turn on different lights. I usually let The Pony run in while I sit in T-Hoe. We had been busy and let this task slide for a week or so. It struck me as odd that The Pony asked me several times to confirm that we were going to Grandma's house.

"Yes. We can't go Monday, because I have a meeting. We'll go Tuesday, right after school. I have to go out to the bank, anyway. And we can check her mail."

As soon as The Pony came to my classroom after the bell, he said, "Are we going to the bank first, or Grandma's house?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Okay, let's go to Grandma's first."

When I pulled down in the driveway, The Pony sat behind me, not making his move to jump out.

"Uh. Mom? I noticed the last time we were here that Grandma still has a bunch of candy in those plastic tubs and the drawers of that dresser."

"Yes. We haven't had time to clean things out yet."

"Do you think it would be okay if I took some of that candy home?"

"Yes. She bought it for you. Every time she went to Dollar Tree, she'd ask me if you wanted anything."

"I know she did."

"Do you need to get a Walmart sack to carry it? There's one in the back. And I know she has some in the house."

"No. I put my packsack in the car this morning. The one they gave us on the college tour. Just in case you said yes."

"Sure. Grandma would want you to have it."

"I know she would."

Let the record show that The Pony is not a big candy eater. And that he has a stash at home left over from Easter. And that every now and then he asks for something when we do the weekly shopping. There is no shortage of candy around our home if The Pony wants to get his hooves on some.

The Pony was in Grandma's house a bit longer than usual. He came out with his pack stuffed with candy, grinning.

We all deal with grief in our own way.