Thursday, July 24, 2008 | 12 responses | Filed Under: Daily
I lost my grandmother in January.
Lost is kind of a odd word here, I believe. I mean, I didn't really lose her… I know where she went. What happened to her.
Just as I know about the cancer.
And the struggle that I refused to acknowledge out of the simple desire to hold on to the fact that nothing like that had ever happened to anyone that I loved.
That we were, in terms of health at least, invincible.
Until six years ago, both of my great-grandmothers on my mother's side of the family were still hearty and significantly more "whole" than one would expect women who have lived nearly a century to be. As a matter of fact, one of them continues to be so. The other, who I was much closer to, smoked like the freight-trains she worked around for forty years, cursed like the dirtiest of sailors, lived through two husbands, survived great depressions of all kinds, and died in her bed at the ripe old age of "older than Methuselah".
Her daughter, on the other hand, was 67 when she died.
Sixty-seven.
To my eyes, ears, mind, and heart, a number that remains a far cry away from a century. A far cry away from an age where a final good-bye is warranted or deserved. An even farther cry away from being some sort of marker for a death that was to be expected.
Despite the cancer.
Despite what everyone else's eyes and ears and minds and hearts told them.
Sixty-seven.
At her funeral, we were asked to say a few words– of her, of memories, of what she meant to us, of whatever came to mind, I guess. And I did. I stood up and said a few words that were as unprepared as words could ever be. Not only because I wasn't expecting to speak, but because I wasn't actually expecting her to die.
I expected to call home every couple of months for the recipe to her caramel cake or broccoli casserole. I expected to check in with her every once in a while to see how things were going. I expected to stop by and visit whenever I happened to be in town. I expected her to tell me how old and tired she was in one breath while telling me that I needed to cut my son's hair in another.
I expected to be able to continue to take her for granted. Because she was my grandmother, and that's what children do to grandmothers.
What I expected was invincibility.
Quasi-immortality.
Wrinkles upon wrinkles and two packs a day and a century.
Nothing more, nothing less.
Despite the cancer.
And now I sit here, a granddaughter without a grandmother. A thirty-year-old woman whose expectations of life have somehow become different with not the loss of her grandmother, but the loss of a part of herself.
Because I didn't really lose her… I know where she went.
It's where I am- that point where forever becomes but a moment, a lifetime but a day, a child unwillingly an adult- that scares me.
July 24, 2008
It's so hard for me to find words to say to you b/c I still have my grandmother here and I fear that someday I'll be writing a post like this. Just know that you are in my thoughts during this time of melancholy. ((HUGS))
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July 24, 2008
I really don't know what to say. But I'm thinking of you.
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July 24, 2008
I'm so very sorry to hear about your grandmother's death. I lost my granny last week. She was 82. To my way of thinking much too young to go.
She was my step-grandmother and I didn't realize that I'd miss her like I do, but it's just hard because as you said, they're supposed to be around, be invincible… to be here until we're done with them and learned all we can from them. Melancholy is a good word for what I'm feeling.
So, I'll tell you what… I'll send you cyber hugs and support if you'll promise to do the same.
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July 24, 2008
Aw hell honey. This was beautiful and hit home so hard right now. Being here with Granny and watching her 'slip' away, seeing only brief glimpses of her in the eyes struggling through the dementia and the drugs…
This was so beautifully written, I expect nothing less from you.
Lots of love doll. I'll be driving home tomorrow afternoon, maybe I can ring you.
Love, hugs and support darlin'. I feel your pain, I truly do.
You can always call me if you want to, for no reason at all.
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July 25, 2008
I know how you feel. I felt that way about my step mother. She was also a smoker. She also had cancer. She died when I needed her most…right before my 15th birthday…20 days before it in fact. She was more like a mother to me than my own mother, I loved her more than my own mother. There are many times over the years that I needed her advice and words of wisdom and she wasn't there to give them to me. Not her fault, but I needed her none the less.
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July 25, 2008
I wish I didn't know what it's like to "lose" someone before your ready. But I do. And since I do. I am sending all kind of comfort vibes and a virtual hug your way. ((((((((((((((((((((((Courtney)))))))))))))))))))))))))))
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July 25, 2008
The last of my grandparents died in 1998. I was 27 years old and pregnant with my first child. It breaks my heart that they never met my kids. I'm so very sorry for your loss.
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July 25, 2008
It will get easier but that melancholy never really goes all the way "away"……..
My grandfather who helped raise me, died when I was 16…….he was 59 and at work when he was suddenly struck down by a fatal heart attack. I was devastated. After 16 years it is still a wound that is quite raw……. just last week I thought I saw his truck at Walmart and I started to cry, my husband thought I was nuts (they never quite understand anything do they)…..
So what I'm saying is….. I get it and if you want to talk about it, you have my number and I am here for you 24/7!
*smooch*
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July 25, 2008
I am so sorry, Courtney. Thinking of you.
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July 25, 2008
Thank you, all of you. I appreciate all of your love and friendship!
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July 25, 2008
I do know how you feel. I've 'lost' each of my grandparents. It's difficult to imagine not going to Grandma's for Sunday dinner, or fishing with Grandpa in the summer, visiting V and Mo at Christmas. It feels so odd not being able to just pick up a phone. I'm so sorry for your loss too.
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July 25, 2008
You know in a few more ways then one I can say I know how you feel, well, at least understand it anyway. One can never truly understand how another feels.
Anyway, I 'lost' my granny almost 10 years ago. She was only 75 at the time. She lived through raising her 8 children mainly on her own since my grandfather had died when he was only 46 years old. She lived through so many things, you wouldn't think she would go so young. I still have 1 granny left and get to do it all over again. *sigh* I also *lost* my other grandpa 14 years ago. I still miss him each and everyday. I visit him often though, he's underneath that big pine only 10 minutes from my house.
The cancer creep, oh yes, I know that one well. It hit our happy home almost 3 years ago. Our outcome didn't result in a loss but we feel it's affects each and every day. Our lives went from one extreme of normalcy to something so very different.
I'm so sorry for your loss and I'm here for you too. Much love and many hugs to you.
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