I think of grandma every time I pass a cemetery. I think of the fact that this bright, vivacious, beautiful person is gone – forever. It frightens me. It makes no sense. Driving past these cemeteries, these cemeteries that feel so alive and vibrant with lush grass and thriving plants and towering trees, I’m reminded of my loss. I’m reminded that when I go to her home, she won’t greet me with the biggest smile, thrilled to death by my very presence.
***
I feel guilty if it’s been more than a day since I remembered grandma. I feel as if I am not properly respecting her memory, not grieving for her in the way she should be grieved. But I also know that grandma didn’t want us to be sad over her. She never even let on how incredibly sick she really was. And no matter how terrible she felt, when I went to see her, she wanted to know about me. What I’m doing, how I like my job, if I’ve planned a cruise. The last conversation I had with her was when I visited her in the hospital the day before she was put on a breathing tube. While my frail grandma was fighting for each breath she took, she asked about my new apartment. She wanted to know how I was settling in. It’s the epitome of the woman she was – focusing on others, not worried about herself. Grandma wouldn’t want me to feel guilty. In fact, I don’t think she would have been happy knowing I feel such guilt. To honor her memory isn’t to cry over her absence – it’s to exude who she was in everything I do. Love God, love others, be a light.
***
Cancer didn’t always scare me. Not even in 2008, when she was first diagnosed. Nor in 2010, when the cancer returned. Nope, I felt invincible because grandma was beating it. She would always beat it. Until one day, she couldn’t. Until one day, the cancer took away my grandma. I replay the scenes in my head like a movie: 2008, standing in the hospital room and learning my grandma had Stage IV colon cancer; and 2016, sitting in a hospital room with my entire family, crying and laughing about our favorite memories of grandma as we watched her pass away.
Now? Cancer terrifies me.
***
I don’t have many dreams about grandma. I can only remember having one, and it was right before my mom’s Super Bowl party, where I dreamed she was there but yet… not really there. She was a vision, maybe? Like, I knew she was there, watching over us and so happy we were all together. I try to not derive too much meaning from my dreams, or the fact that I’m not dreaming, because who can really control the subconscious? I think it’s better this way. To not dream. That’s what I tell myself, anyway.
***
When I think of the time grandma was in the hospital, and the days and weeks after she passed, it all feels like a blur. Thinking back to the time, every memory seems clouded with fog. It was all so surreal; we were all so sure she was going to pull through. The day after she passed, my mom and I were at my grandpa’s house to empty out her closet. I didn’t cry once during this. I didn’t feel. I was just removing clothes from hangers, folding them, and putting them in bags to donate. Over and over and over and over again. Remove, fold, put away; remove, fold, put away. Now, as I think back to this, as I picture that closet that is now half-empty, my throat closes up and my chest feels tight. It’s strange how much of a fog that time feels. Maybe it’s our bodies way of coping, of allowing us to do all the tasks associated with death. No thinking, no feeling, just doing.
***
Life without grandma feels surreal. I’m not sure if I will ever fully process this loss. It’s too big. My grandma was my everything. She was my hero, my therapist, my cheerleader, my friend. She supported me through everything I did, never doubting my abilities. Do you know how wonderful it is to have someone like that? Someone who thinks the world of you and believes you can do big things? It’s empowering, it’s a confidence booster. My heart is shattered knowing I can’t just drop by her house and see her. The reality of that takes my breath away.
I managed to get through this without tears until the last paragraph because what you described is precisely how my relationship with my mom evolved. I miss her everyday, so many things I want to tell her, ask her, discover and above all, anything for just one more hug.
I can relate to the grief fog, too. How it felt, how everything was just a blur, you do so many things unthinking and unfeeling. I think that’s just how it goes. How the brain copes.
Grief is unpredictable, it’s personal, it changes and it is not linear. Feel however you need to, whenever you need to. <3
Right there with you Nora. I realized the other day as I was thinking about life decisions and what to do next ( where to move, what to do about career) that this will be the first time I’m making them without my Dad’s advice– and that felt crippling to me. That I would have a new job or a new home that he wouldn’t know or have helped me talk through– was, even after almost 3 years, totally shocking to me.
Stephanie- this grief thing is anything but explainable and comes at the weirdest moments, but embracing the grief honors the love. We miss them so much and struggle because of how important and huge they were in our life– so living fully in their memory and love is the best way we can honor them. Hugs to you my friend.
Losing a loved one is so difficult, especially when you are so close to them. You were definitely blessed to have such a close relationship with her as not everyone has that kind of relationship with their grandparents. But that makes their passing so difficult so it’s a double-edged sword. I was so young when my maternal grandparents died so while I was sad, I did not know them as an adult as i was still a child. It was much harder when I lost my grandpa in my 20s, especially since we were so super close and I spent so much time with him. He passed fairly suddenly which was a blessing in a way as he didn’t suffer for a prolonged period of time but tough because it was so sudden.
Cancer scares me, too. My mom’s mom and her sisters, and my mom’s grandma all died of cancer so it seems like we are doomed to get that diagnosis. I’ve had more women around my age get diagnosed with cancer over the last couple of years which makes me realize it could happen at any time. I try not to dwell on that but I do all I can to reduce the risk of that diagnosis, as you know from reading my cancer prevention post.
So sorry for your loss and pain. I know it hasn’t been easy. Words are never enough when you’re missing someone you love, but just know you’re in my thoughts. <3
Oh stink, you’ve gone and made me all sobby. <3
Big hugs to you and know that you're not alone in your feelings. It's been 4 years since I lost my own grandma and very rarely does a day go by where I don't think of her in some regard. The feeling of loss never fully goes away, but coping does eventually become more manageable.
Two words: Megan Devine.
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/megan-devine/grief-healing-will-i-ever_b_4810843.html
http://themanifeststation.net/2014/01/10/the-weekly-countdown/
All the hugs. I love you.
Oh yeah, grief fog is definitely real. I look back at the most recent death I experienced in my family (my great-aunt’s was three years ago already! WHAT? That can’t be!) and I have the exact same feelings about the time immediately after I got the news and we were preparing the funeral. I think it’s a self-preservation mechanism so that we’re able to “function” in the immediate aftermath.
Grief is hard. It shifts and changes, but it’s never not there. Hugs to you my friend. It’s so hard to miss loved ones.