My thoughts on grief

Today was one of those days. Those days you know are going to be harder.

There are different types of hard days: there are the ones when you are sick, the ones when everything goes wrong, the ones when your mind sabotages you, and then there are the ones like today…

Today is the day my grandma, my favorite person in the whole world, passed away exactly a year ago.

Grief is something I still haven’t figured out. The past year I spent running away from it, and today it finally caught up with me.

I haven’t been able to talk about this, not even in therapy. It is something so complex and painful that I don’t even have the words to express it.

My grandma was light, pure magic. She was everything that was right in this world. And now she is not here. She hasn’t been here for a while, and I cannot handle the new feelings that come with it. How does this love I feel for her become so intertwined with this pain I now feel?

Last year today, I was home. I had the blessing of flying back just in time. I spent her last nights next to her.

It was a hard week for everyone back home. They had spent many sleepless nights doing rounds taking care of her each night, and it was my turn to back them up and spend what we didn’t know was her last nights together.

I always joked I was her favorite. She never fully accepted it, other than giving me a cheeky glance every time I self-proclaimed to be her favorite in front of all the family. But this time, I like to think it was her way of finally telling me I was. We spent my first night back just her and I. She seemed to be asleep for days now, but I could feel her, I could feel her laughing at my nonsense without the need to hear her laugh, I could feel her telling me life was going to be just fine and to not be afraid without the need of words. I told her everything, but oh boy how I wished I could live in that moment forever. Just her and I holding hands in the calm of the night just moments before my life changed forever.

I was the one that had to call the emergency number and hop on an ambulance with her for that last ride with my mom.

I felt chosen. I still do. And as painful as it was, and still is, I would never give up those last moments we had together, her and me.

I like to think that she thought I was strong enough to live that with her, to be the one to hold my mom, and run behind doctors as soon as we arrived at the hospital, to fill out forms and have a clear mind in the middle of my heartbreak for her.

That last night, I could only thank her for her life, for her laugh, for her hugs, her kind eyes, her singing voice, her dancing self, her wise wise heart, and her hands that showed me the way many times.

Nobody prepares you for this, and it makes me angry that everyone seems to accept death so easily. Why can’t I?

I feel so much pain for her being gone that I’ve blocked it out. I can not even think about her not being here. I don’t allow myself to think about it. Just when I’m having a very, very hard day, I let myself smell the scarf I stole from her belongings that until some months ago still smelled like her.

I used to play her favorite three songs on repeat those last days sitting next to her bed, and I haven’t been able to listen to those songs since then… I want so badly to honor her, but my heart breaks every time I look at her photo, or every time my mom brings her up, or when I cry myself to sleep because I cannot remember how she smelled and have nothing to remember that smell anymore.

Today is the first time I was able to look at videos of her, and some photos together. I wore her scarf and went to light a candle for her at the church I went to beg God for her to wait for me to arrive to say goodbye.

Today is the first day I write about her too, and as I write, I realize that to feel my grief is the only way to let her back in.

I want to finish this day not only writing about her, but writing something to her:

Abuelita,

I love you so much that it hurts, and I always will. You were and will always be my rock, my idol, my biggest love. I’m so sorry I don’t talk about you enough and to you enough; it’s just still too painful, but I have you in my mind and heart every single day, at every moment. Every time I look at the sky and see the clouds you used to like, every time I see those tiny flowers on the pavement that you loved, every time I see my mom and sister, I see you there too.

I hope you are where you always wished to be. I hope you know how much loved you are and how much missed you are too.

Today marks our last day together, but it also marks the beginning of healing your absence.

I love you. I don’t think I say it enough. I love you, I love you, I love you.