I’ll think I’m done writing about grief and then something unexpected stirs it up. This week my step-daughter and granddaughter are visiting. My son-in-law is graciously sharing them with us as he needs to stay home and work. It’s a nice full week of family, though, because my step-son and daughter-in-law, who are expecting their first baby, live in town as does my sister-in-law and niece. My step-daughter coming to visit has created lots of extra family time for us locals. And it’s the craziest thing: during my alone time, like taking a shower or out running errands, I miss my parents like crazy!

It’s been almost two years since we said our final good-bye on this side of eternity and so the list of things that would trip me up in regard to grieving their physical absence is much shorter than in the beginning. And when I do get tripped up I feel sad, not overwhelmed. This week though I keep creating a puddle of tears to splash around in! Last night in the shower for one, and then today while driving alone and listening to Celtic music in the car, I just bubbled over in tears as I drove. Admittedly, songs from the British Isles stir something primeval inside so it quickening grief today isn’t surprising. What’s surprising is the depth of it.

I know that my grief over the loss of my parents is tied up with me confronting my own mortality. Early on in today’s “grief ride” I was stopped by a school bus and watched a parade of elementary school children get off and climb their hill home. I always enjoy being stopped by that school bus because the children coming off it are colorful and full of energy. It’s like being surprised by a parade. Today, with “The Water is Wide” filling the car, I experienced the felt sense that one day life will most certainly continue on without me. I was filled with a surprising mix of hope and deep sadness as I admired the children who will outlive me climbing the hillside.

It seems to me that I’ve been tripped up grief-wise by having multiple generations of family with us this week. Never having had children of my own I don’t have a sense of “my line continuing in my absence.” Though I could tell you about the summer I became a bona fide step-mother, who will worry about her step-children’s welfare and rejoice in their successes till the day she dies, I have never laid claim to them.

They don’t belong to me the way they belong to their father and mother. Having a son-in-law, daughter-in-law, and grandchildren helps me come closer to claiming them all as mine because those step lines blur as more family members are added by marriage. This week, having everyone together for the first time in many years, I believe the experience that these are my immediate family and they are the ones whose lives I’ve invested in with my love, energy, and talents who will outlive me has made an impression and made me confront my mortality and grieve the loss of my parents in a new way.

One thing I know for sure and for certain: for me, grief is an expression of love. I’m used to expressing love between my parents and me with laughter and good times. But if wishing they were here and missing them so badly I puddle up in tears is the price I pay for loving and being loved by them, then love it is and that’s OK. Besides, with most passing days I remember them young, vital, and healthy – and I still hear their encouragement and advice in my imagination – and those kinds of nurturing, validating exchanges tend to precede and follow waves of grief.

Grief is the cost of loving. I’ll take it.