On Grief

Hey there. I don’t really know what to write about this week. I’ve been having a hard time, just life things piling up and slowly falling apart. My great grandmother passed away a couple of weeks ago. She practically raised me while my parents were working and my sister and I were young. She’s lived with us my whole life and longer.

I’m still used to putting six forks at the table when we’re preparing dinner. Now we only need five. She would come to my room and ask me to make her a cup of tea every couple hours. She could no longer remember where the mugs were, or how to use the new microwave.

Her room is now an office. My parents couldn’t stand to keep it empty, it felt too much like something was missing.

She was a devout Catholic, and she had a lot of rosaries. I’m not Catholic, but I keep one bundled up in my wallet. The first time I left the house after she died, I just couldn’t stand to leave without it, no matter how hard I tried. I needed it then, and I still need it now.

I saw her death coming. We all did. We watched her slowly deteriorate over several months. I thought that having already watched this process would ultimately make the grief easier. But it didn’t.

I cried for my great grandmother for the first time today. Hard. I’m writing through blurry eyes and a headache right now. I don’t usually cry when sad things happen. I think things over and process my sadness quietly and privately. That’s just how I’ve always been. But when I came home from school today, I just locked myself in the bathroom and cried nonstop for hours. It just happened.

I think about her birthday coming up in April. I think about the way her hugs used to feel. I think about the rocking chair she would sit on when she would tell me stories when I was little. I think about her little rosary stuffed in my wallet. I think about how she used to cook rice and beans with a fried egg on top for me and my sister when my parents were out at work.

She was good at singing. She had this soft and wispy voice. But I haven’t heard her voice in months. She stopped making sense years ago, and she stopped speaking just months before she died.

It’s hard to believe she’s gone. I miss her. But I remember those moments of my childhood, when she taught me how to count to ten in Spanish, when she would brush my hair before I figured it out on my own. I remember making her tea, I remember the little white mug with ladybugs that she always insisted on using, and I remember setting out a fork for her at the table each meal.

I know it gets easier. Seeing her door and realizing that she’s not behind it prompts a heavy sigh. Reading the messages she wrote in the birthday cards I have pinned to my wall brings about a little tinge sadness followed by a smile. I don’t want to cry each time I remember my great grandmother. I want to laugh and reminisce. I want to remind my family of the silly moments they may have forgotten by now. And I know I will soon. It just takes time…

With hope and gratitude,

Alexandra