I got the news driving home from spending the weekend helping a friend of mine clean our her mother's house after her passing. I turned onto my street just as my dad called me. We don't really call each other, so when I saw his name on the caller id my stomach instantly sunk. Flashes of my mom or sister or nieces or nephews, or a slew of other people being hurt flooded my head in the 2 seconds it took to answer. But not her.
I had just been home a week ago. My grandma had just gotten out of the hospital and seemed to be stable. She was staying with my parents, but itching to get home. We celebrated Mother's Day and I gave her a clock. We talked about how we loved each other and were in a good place with our relationship.
I should have seen it coming. But I assumed we had a few more months at the very least. My dad performed CPR until the paramedics arrived, but she would never wake up. When he called me he said it wasn't looking good. I asked if I should head home, but we decided not to. Partly because driving when you're upset isn't a good idea. And partly because my family is a family of fighters. We saw my grandpa go through similar things, things we considered calling the family home for. But he pulled through. I held out hope this would be the case again. That I would get to say to her "you scared me. don't do that."
The night before she passed my mom said they were going to take her off life support in the morning. Again I considered leaving. But really there was no way I would make it in time to say goodbye.
On one hand, I'm fine with that. Seeing her husband on machines, unconscious tore me up. And I knew that really, she was already gone. Part of me thinks that I wouldn't have been able to go into that room. Everybody gathered by her bedside, sent her off well. But another part wishes I had gone.
At the time my mom told me they'd make the decision I went to the beach. On the way there I got a small bottle of listerine, emptied it and filled it with sand. She lived in Florida for her first few years of marriage. A piece of her past and my present to stay with her. While there my brother called me to express his disbelief that I hadn't come to say goodbye. That broke me. Things aren't great with him, and that's part of the reason. But I also understand. My siblings and I spent a lot of time with my grandparents. He was hurting in a way very few could understand.
I held it together pretty well through my flight home, my first day there. But on the way to the visitation I lost it. I wasn't ready to see her, wasn't ready to accept the fact that I had missed my last chance to speak to her.
I sat in the lobby crying, horribly embarrassed. My grief felt silly and unwarranted. My family was being so strong, and I couldn't stop crying. This wasn't some great tragedy. It wasn't my parents. It's what happens in life. I was blessed with 26 years of her. She lived a full life, and was spared a lot of the suffering her husband went through. But I had lost one of my biggest cheerleaders, one of my confidants, one of my safe havens. And it sucked.
My earliest memory of her is teaching me to write Ks. I could do the rest of the letters in my name, but looking at a K I had no idea how to recreate it. So she showed me, line by line and angle by angle. She gave me the building blocks of myself in so many ways.
A few months after she passed I was having a really shit day. But going through some papers I found her Easter card, signed "love always, mema." I saved it, and got the script tattooed on my foot in January. I didn't notice in the placement when I got it, but I can only see it if I move my foot forward. She would have liked that.
The hole in my heart that belongs to her hasn't gotten smaller. But the edges are less jagged, the sadness more gentle. I wish she could be there for the big moments in my life that have yet to come, but its ok that she's not. She helped make them possible. I'm not sure what I believe about an afterlife, but I do know that she is inside me. I know that I was fortunate enough to gain an idea as to what her thought process was, and use that to determine whether she'd be proud of a decision. I think this year would have made her proud, and I'm grateful for that.
