A number of years ago, I took a trip to Amsterdam with some of my college classmates. I speak of this trip often and people comment about how I must have really enjoyed the Red Light District and coffee shops. I won't lie, it was fun. But I also visited fine art museums and saw buildings older than our country. The most profound part of the trip was the visit to the Anne Frank House. This visit has stuck with me almost 8 years later. For those of you that haven't been, you walk through the house and see the rooms where the families stayed. You saw furniture and the Academy Award that was won by Shelly Winters. It was amazing to me that these people lived in such tiny quarters for such a long period of time. Towards the end of the tour, you come into a room that takes your breath away. On one wall is a massive mural of the bodies at Auschwitz and on the wall across from the mural is a television that plays an interview with Otto Frank. I remember putting my sunglasses on because I started to cry. He spoke of his daughter and their time together in those tiny quarters. He also spoke of her diary, which he hadn't read until after the war. He was amazed at what she put in there and her feelings and thoughts. He concluded that while he was on very good terms with his daughter and so close to her, most parents don't really know their children.
Had you asked me on August 29th, 2017 how well I knew my daughter, I would have told you I knew everything about her. We were close. We shared a lot. We had been through hell and back together. She told me everything and I knew her so well. Or so I thought. On August 30th, 2017 I found that I didn't know my daughter that well at all. In the first days after she died, I went in her room a lot. I was looking for answers. We went through her backpack and car. We found essential oils that she used regularly. I found that she had two drawers for her intimates. One that was grubby and one that was nice and pretty. I found that she had an entire drawer of stationary and pens for correspondence. She had blank birthday cards to send to family and friends. We found journals with her feelings and experiences. Turns out, I knew the Catherine that she wanted me to know. There was another side of her that she chose not to share with me. She shared that side with her friends and kept some of it private. Since she died, her friends have explained pictures in her room to me and showed me videos they had of her. I didn't know that she cussed as much as she did. She came by it honestly. She was funny and snarky in a way that I didn't know. She was devastated over the ending of her relationship with a boy. He was her first real love and it ended so badly. I didn't realize that she loved that hard.
As time goes by and people share more and more stuff with me about my girl, I'm struck by how much I didn't know. Which begs the question, how well do we really know our children? I wish I had known more of Catherine's other side. I suspect, had we been the same age, we would have been best friends.
With Christmas rapidly approaching, I'm missing my girl. We used to craft together and wrap presents together and watch shitty Christmas movies. She would be SO excited about whatever gift she had gotten me and it would have been the two of us spending time together. I woke up this morning in a bit of a panic. Christmas is coming and she isn't here. I'm about to face so many firsts without my daughter. The panic was paralyzing. I managed to get up because the baby needed to go to daycare. I grabbed the basket in our room with some of Henry's stuff in it and stuck to the back of the basket was one of Catherine's socks. I smiled and felt better. I do know that she LOVED her socks.
So as we end this year and head into the next, I ask that you think about how well you know your children. Do you know the version they want you to know or the real version? Don't wait until it is too late.
Had you asked me on August 29th, 2017 how well I knew my daughter, I would have told you I knew everything about her. We were close. We shared a lot. We had been through hell and back together. She told me everything and I knew her so well. Or so I thought. On August 30th, 2017 I found that I didn't know my daughter that well at all. In the first days after she died, I went in her room a lot. I was looking for answers. We went through her backpack and car. We found essential oils that she used regularly. I found that she had two drawers for her intimates. One that was grubby and one that was nice and pretty. I found that she had an entire drawer of stationary and pens for correspondence. She had blank birthday cards to send to family and friends. We found journals with her feelings and experiences. Turns out, I knew the Catherine that she wanted me to know. There was another side of her that she chose not to share with me. She shared that side with her friends and kept some of it private. Since she died, her friends have explained pictures in her room to me and showed me videos they had of her. I didn't know that she cussed as much as she did. She came by it honestly. She was funny and snarky in a way that I didn't know. She was devastated over the ending of her relationship with a boy. He was her first real love and it ended so badly. I didn't realize that she loved that hard.
As time goes by and people share more and more stuff with me about my girl, I'm struck by how much I didn't know. Which begs the question, how well do we really know our children? I wish I had known more of Catherine's other side. I suspect, had we been the same age, we would have been best friends.
With Christmas rapidly approaching, I'm missing my girl. We used to craft together and wrap presents together and watch shitty Christmas movies. She would be SO excited about whatever gift she had gotten me and it would have been the two of us spending time together. I woke up this morning in a bit of a panic. Christmas is coming and she isn't here. I'm about to face so many firsts without my daughter. The panic was paralyzing. I managed to get up because the baby needed to go to daycare. I grabbed the basket in our room with some of Henry's stuff in it and stuck to the back of the basket was one of Catherine's socks. I smiled and felt better. I do know that she LOVED her socks.
So as we end this year and head into the next, I ask that you think about how well you know your children. Do you know the version they want you to know or the real version? Don't wait until it is too late.
When I was at your home with the boys a couple of weeks ago, I was consumed by frustration and anger and didn’t know why. I was throwing things when I got home and the next day, as I sang ina cantata at church that your daughter should have been singing in with me, I was livid. I bugged out of church before I said something inappropriate or started throwing and breaking things that didn’t belong to me. It took most of the day to finally figure out how angry I was that she was gone. Blind rage at her NOT being here with us any longer. I didn’t know her as well as I would have liked but I chalked it up to her being a teenager who rolled her big brown eyes at me....often. I believe I will try much harder to communicate with my grandchildren and REALLY listen to what they are saying. The Sunday before Catherine died we were in the chapel at church finishing choir practice. I went over to her and asked why she looked so sad and she shrugged and said she was just bummed out. I hugged her and said “you know your Nonna loves you, right?” She hugged me back and all seemed well. I wish I had said more, done more, listened more and been more. I always will wish that. Thanks to Catherine I will try to be more from now on. Oh how I miss that kid. I love you!
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