In those early days following her death, I felt my heart crying out at night. I was raised to believe in heaven, but a small part of me was quietly yelling, Where did you go? Maybe the where should be replaced with a why. There is a subtle uncertainty at first, that comes with someone dying. If you believe in the soul, as I do, you have to wonder where the soul went. Surely it had had to go somewhere if my grandma's body was there, but her eyes were empty.
I walk into her room and her things are all there. Just so. The book I left on her coffee table that she told me she was excited to read. It mocks me. Makes me question her passing. We all want to believe that she knew, that she was ready, that it wasn't shocking. But there the book sits, waiting to be picked up and I remember that she still had plans. And maybe they were trivial tasks and not so important, but they were there.
My dad wants to go through grandma's stuff and get her room cleared out so he can have the garage back. Very black and white and "this is just the way life goes" kind of attitude. It's fine. I think about how much I will miss her room, but what I really miss is her. Even if we did keep her room how it was, she wouldn't be there to fill the space. I guess that's what really gets me. It's not death that is the hardest, though that night was traumatic, but absence. Perpetual absence and perpetual "missing".
I can miss her all I want, but it won't change the fact that she is not here. I'll just be missing her and missing her forever and ever in varying degrees of severity.
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Notes on Grief
RandomThis is about grief and loss and is just for me, but you can read it too if you want.
