For anyone who has suffered the loss of a loved one, they know this all too well, your grief for that special someone never ever goes away.
I can still recall so clearly the day my family received the call that my Grandma had passed. I was 15. My Mom came into my room early one morning and plugged her blow dryer in beside my bed and started to dry her hair. I rose up quickly knowing something was very wrong. My Mom’s face held the sad truth behind her weary red eyes. She explained to me that Grandma had suffered a heart attack and that we had to go to Grandma and Grandad’s house right away. I recall getting ready hastily, throwing on my Lenny Kravitz t-shirt and some jeans. Not really grasping the gravity of what had just happened.
We arrived a short time later to walk in on my Grandma being zipped up into a body bag. I recall being confused, perhaps when my Mom told me she had suffered a heart attack, in my mind, it was not final. She would be taken to the hospital and everything would be okay in the end. Or perhaps, it was because this was my first real experience with the loss of a loved one and my mind was having difficulty comprehending the finality of it all.
My Grandad sat quietly in the kitchen, tears running down his cheeks. I recall him saying quietly to my Dad, “I always thought I would be the first to go, not Mom”. My Aunt, who had a strong emotional bond with my Grandma, was downstairs sitting on the back porch by herself, sobbing. I quietly went outside and sat with her. Trying to console her, with my words and hugs. Hoping that showing her how much I loved her might help, even if just a little.
I knew life would never be the same for my Aunt after that point. I think of all of my family during that time, and how my Grandma’s death hit my Aunt the hardest. I don’t believe it was because she was weak, not even for a moment. I believe she never really felt whole again after the loss of her Mom. My Dad had us, my Mom and my brother and I, distractions and daily reminders that he was not alone. My Aunt was literally alone, she had no one to go home to, to comfort her at the end of the day, or to distract her. In retrospect, my Aunt’s grief morphed into a new form, when she made it her mission to take care of my Grandad. My Aunt spent her days fretting over my Grandad and did this for many years until his passing.
My Aunt never really was herself following my Grandma’s death. The grief carried a heavy burden on her. She lost her zest for her own life and focused on taking care of everyone but herself to pass her time.
Grief is a fitful thing, that holds you to your very core. The pieces of our loved ones that we hold in our hearts and memories are always there. Sometimes the memory of them is so vivid that their loss hits you again, as though fresh and for the first time. The pain never really goes away, it subsides from time to time, some of the periods of time between painful memories are longer than others, but the grief never dies.
After my Aunt passed, I read a quote at her memorial, “Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened. – Dr. Seuss. To this day, I hold that quote in my memory for days when I need that reminder, and there are many days that I do.