On Christmas Day of this year, my grandmother passed away.
It had been a long time coming, and we (my family) had ample time to prepare for the loss. For that, I’m thankful — but no amount of preparation can ever stop how that loss feels. It’s a hole you can go about your day to day life dancing around, but one small thing can trip you up and cause you to fall in. For me, that small thing was a redbird broach.
I saw it while browsing through a department store, and my first thought was how much my grandmother would have loved it. She used to cook or wash dishes in the big, old house I grew up in, watching the red birds (or cardinals, as she called them) play in the bird bath outside. I struggled for a minute before deciding to buy it.
I had known the time was coming that she would leave us. In fact, we’d been expecting it for three days. I like to think she wanted to greet one last Christmas with us before going home. No matter her reasons for holding on, that last night I was able to go in and speak with her, hold her hand and let her know what she meant to me. I told her of my dreams for the future, of what I wanted to accomplish in life. Of how I wanted to find success as a writer, and how I wanted to travel the world and see it the way she and my grandfather had done.
Those words held conviction. I knew they would likely be the last things I’d ever get to say to her, and that was a hard realization. This was the woman who had told me I could do whatever I wanted in life if I tried. By the time reality and society caught up, it was too late — I believed it, and I still do. She had encouraged me every step of the way, through high school, through college, and then in the first steps of my adult life. Her words still encourage me to go the distance to accomplish what I’ve dreamed of doing, and to seek out the good in everyone.
She was the kind of person who left a mark on everyone she met. No one ever had a bad thing to say about her, and most of my friends adopted her as another grandmother for their own. She certainly felt that way about them. And not just people she knew; my grandmother tried to see the good in everyone, and in the future. I remember clinging to her after coming home from school on 9/11. I was terrified; at that age, I was too young to grasp what was happening, or what the impact of the day’s events would be. But she took it in stride, calming me and my younger brother down until our parents came home. Although I now realize she was probably as shaken as the rest of us, she put on a brave face. She was just that kind of person.
It’s been just over a month since she passed. That’s not nearly enough time to come to terms with the loss, and I’m not sure any amount of time ever will be. However, I’ve had a great deal of time to think since then, and I’ve come to realize that life is far too short to be wasted. If there’s someone you care about, let them know now. If there is an adventure you’ve wanted to go on, a dream you’ve wanted to follow, or a goal you wanted to reach, do it now. Encourage those around you to keep following their dreams. Don’t waste the life you’ve been given.
Each day, that thought drives me forward. Each day, that thought makes me want to accomplish more than the day before.
In the days following her loss, I witnessed such an outpouring of love and care for myself and my family that explaining it would be nearly impossible. The sheer number of phone calls I received was astounding. People may not always get along, but I’ve found that in the moments that matter, we come together. In times of pain, we all grieve, and in times of joy, we all celebrate. Funerals, weddings, birthdays, Christmas — these events are human. They bring us together.
On an ending note, a writer is ‘supposed’ to be objective about a situation, to distance themselves from it before attempting to put it into words. I don’t think I’ll ever be far enough removed from this situation to write about it objectively, and that’s okay. Loss, as painful as it is, is part of being human.
You know, my grandmother always wanted to visit Australia. One day, I’ll go there — for her sake.
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