Reflections from Brigitta
Gretchen Marie Naugle is force of nature that permeates through the fabric of everything I - and my family - know, and I don’t know how to do this without her.
It feels like I’ve lost the one person who loves and understands me the most in the world. And for as long as I can remember, I’ve been terrified of losing her. In the first dream I can remember - I was around five - we were on a walk. She was holding my hand when suddenly, she let go and kept walking. She didn’t run, just calmly kept walking ahead of me until she was out of sight. I woke up from my nap sobbing. This dream haunts me. I called her nearly every day since I left home for college and work nearly six years ago. Maybe it was to make sure she was still there. I’d always call twice since she often wasn’t near her phone the first time. She’d listen to every crazy thought, idea, and rant I had. And she never judged me. There were so many times I felt like the worst, most awful person. And yet she told me she loved me and that I was amazing and talented. It isn’t fair. I can’t believe she loved me that much. She’s the reason I believe in God. Looking at her life and how she loves, how could I not?
My mama has this way of making everyone she encounters feel listened to and seen. In middle school, I had a friend come over. Her grandmother, a recent immigrant from Saudi Arabia, accompanied her, and my mama sat with her the entire time and got the whole family history. My friend’s grandmother couldn’t speak English too well, but my mama got her talking for nearly two hours, telling my mom about her thoughts on arranged marriage. You really only had to meet her once to feel her enduring warmth and kindness. She was the glue in our family - always looking for harmony in a house full of five very strong, independent personalities. Somehow, she was able to see into each of us and understand. And not just that, but understand how to get each of us to understand one another. I loved how she would get feisty with my dad. She’d get a sparkle in her eyes that only flared up with him. We all felt special in those eyes.
So much about her endured throughout the hellscape of the past six years. Her love and care for her babies never waned, something she told us repeatedly. We were always were her babies no matter how old we got. She never wanted us to see her suffer. She didn’t want to talk about how much it hurt, or how cancer began to strip away her physical sense of self. But she was still fierce and feisty. Until she couldn’t be.
In October, she stopped answering my daily calls. The last full conversation I was able to have with her was nearly a month ago. My grasp on her hand was loosening. And the grief began to hit in an entirely new way. The panic I was keeping at bay by talking with her constantly began to creep in. It wasn’t panic for what would happen to her. I know she’s in the best place she could ever be. It was panic for my sisters, my dad, myself. I don’t know what we do. I know she’s with her Creator. And I’ve felt that Creator more than ever the past week. But I can’t rejoice about it right now.
I knew what was coming the night of December 3rd and into the early morning of December 4th. Her hand slid out of mine. She kept walking on, somewhere out of reach. Except I can’t wake up, and she isn’t there to comfort me. Not now, at least. All I can do is repeat how much I miss her.
-Brigitta Marie Naugle