When my grandmother died where did she go? I found myself absently wondering this as I sat staring at my book (without reading it) on an airplane two weeks ago. Yesterday, I could have heard her voice on the phone. Where is her voice today? Where is her laugh?
I heard from my father, and was on a plane 10 hours later. Life on pause. Cats abandoned. Boss ignored. The distance from my family weighed on my chest. I fled home, only to feel time slow down when I arrived. Every time I saw another family member we would each stop and regard one another. So, this is what you look like in a world without Gram.
She asked to be cremated. No fuss. No coffin. I saw her on the last day she was in the world, and it was not real to me until that moment. She lay, tiny, on a table. It was still her, but she was freezing cold. I clasped her hands, pushed back her hair, kissed her cheek. My mother, aunt, and I stayed with her until we were drained of tears.
My family gathered every day that week and the next, occupying ourselves with projects and planning. Sometimes we just sat together. We ate too much food, and watched my niece and nephews play.
I found myself thinking about Buffy a lot. In particular, I thought about the episode "The Body," which I had watched for the first time a couple of weeks earlier. Those are some of the finest 40-odd minutes of television I've ever seen. Joss is truly unsentimental when it comes to death. He says in the commentary that nothing is gained in the loss of a loved one. Death doesn't bring people together or teach us lessons. Rather it leaves a hole in our lives where that person used to be. I heard his response to my question of where my Gram went. She's just gone.
Strangely, this sentiment does not make me feel worse. It's frustrating to look for consolation in abstract life lessons during times like these. During Gram's memorial service, my father's pastor told us to feel happy that she is in heaven now. How comforting it is to have a stranger tell you how to feel in this situation! I immediately channeled my teenage self and thought "What do you know about my feelings?", and mentally threw myself onto my bed in a fit of tears. I'm not happy, and it's not for lack of faith. Why should I be happy that Gram is not with us, even if she is playing canasta with Jesus or whatever? Sure, it's selfish, but I miss her. There is a void in my life now, and if I accept that then I can learn to live with it.
We all lose people, and eventually our families and friends will lose us. So, what's to be done? Nothing, except to love my family and my chosen family of friends as much as possible while we're all still breathing. It's not a lesson. It's a plan.
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My Gram, holding out her pinky while drinking a Diet Coke. We thought this was hilarious.
Here she is again with my niece Simone.
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Here's a song for everyone who has ever lost someone. It was written by Y.M. Barnwell, and recorded by Sweet Honey in the Rock.
Wanting Memories
(from CROSSINGS by Y.M. Barnwell ©1992)
I am sitting here wanting memories to teach me
to see the beauty in the world through my own eyes.
I am sitting here wanting memories to teach me
To see the beauty in the world through my own eyes.
You said you'd rock me in the cradle of your arms.
You said you'd hold me ‘til the storms of life were gone.
You said you'd comfort me in times like these and now I need you.
Now I need you...
And you are -
gone.
So, I am sitting here wanting memories to teach me
to see the beauty in the world through my own eyes.
Since you've gone and left me, there's been so little beauty,
but I know I saw it clearly through your eyes.
Now the world outside is such a cold and bitter place.
Here inside I have few things that will console.
And when I try to hear your voice above the storms of life,
then i remember all the things that I was told.
Well, I am sitting here wanting memories to teach me
to see the beauty in the world through my own eyes.
Yes, I am sitting here wanting memories to teach me
To see the beauty in the world through my own eyes.
I think on the things that made me feel so wonderful when I was young.
I think on the things that made me laugh , made me dance, made me sing.
I think on the things that made me grow into a being full of pride.
I think on these things, for they are true.
I am sitting here wanting memories to teach me
to see the beauty in the world through my own eyes.
I thought that you were gone, but now I know you're with me.
You are the voice that whispers all I need to hear.
I know a "Please", a "Thank you", and a smile will take me far.
I know that I am you and you are me, and we are one.
I know that who I am is numbered in each grain of sand.
I know that I am blessed,
again, and again, and again, and again,
and, again.
I am sitting here wanting memories to teach me
to see the beauty in the world through my own eyes.
I am sitting here wanting memories to teach me
To see the beauty in the world through my own eyes.
My deepest condolences -
My mother passed away last May and it is still so very hard some days.
But there are good days as well. Days when it doesn't seem so empty here.
Just keep putting one foot in front of the other.
It will get better by and by.
Sadly death never takes a holiday.Last year on the day of my birthday I found out that my Mother had died.It was a heart attack.The odd thing was that my sister(younger)was in the hospital suffering congestive heart failure.Mom died in her room the previous evening.I didn't know SHE had heart trouble!My sister died later in September,not long after Mom's birthdate.
Take heart in the fact that life ain't all bad all the time.I hope that you find a way to honor your Gram and keep her close to you without hurting.I know how hard that is.
Dearest Vanessa,
I was a bit sad when I heard you say, "I immediate channeled my teenage self," as if to indicate there was something immature about your reaction; that you felt you responded in a way an adult would likely not. You're right about that, actually: most grown-ups I know would consider it a sign of emotional weakness and immaturity to react in such an 'undignified' manner, and, along with the pastor, would like to see you have a more uplifting, positive response: one in which her death is not a loss, but an opportunity to be glad that she's in a better place now. But I'm inclined to say the opposite: the ability to 'feel' the hole, my dear friend, is a great act of maturity and self-love. You are not trying to fill the void with obligatory happiness for her alleged well-being now, or some such; instead, you are, as it were, filling up that hole with grief and the realization of loss. And in doing so, you are truest to both your grandmother and yourself: by the measure that you grieve for her, you realize what she meant to you. As Tennyson so beautifully put it:
I leave thy praises unexpress'd
In verse that brings myself relief,
And by the measure of my grief
I leave thy greatness to be guess'd;
Joss was right: death leaves but a hole; and there ain't no particular lesson to be learned. The pastor may not figure the percentage in that; but when you find yourself crying over her at night, and you feel the loss, please, be gentle to yourself, and allow yourself plenty room to express your real feelings around this, without shame or reservation. To be able to say: "I could no more hold back my joy in her presence than I can hold back my tears in her absence." It don't get much more 'whole' than that.
Thank you for sharing the beauty of your soul.
Your overseas friend in the 'Verse,
RB
Ness. I am not very eloquent or poetical. What I wanted to say will come out very straightforward.
So I will just let it spill out.
You said aloud what so many of us are thinking. That the platitudes they tell us don't fill that terrible blank space that is left when someone we love dies. We're left empty there until it's filled up eventually with memories, pain, tears and aching that never stops. It fades a little I've found. Time is after all the healer of all things. You come to terms with it and fold it into your life and go on. Because the sun comes up and sets whether you want it to or not. Talking about it, writing about it helps a great deal.
You are such a special person and your Gram was obviously special too. I'm sure she was proud of the part of you that she contributed to and of all of what makes you so very you.
I have found that I carry a piece of my Dad with me all the time. Sounds a little odd, but it's not. It's comforting. All the things in me that were most like him ( including the frustrating bits) go with me now each day and remind me of him. I am really glad I have that.
We will all of us keep you close to our hearts and be there for you when you need us. We're right here.
Love and hugs,
Diane
"So this is what you look like in a world without Gram." Oh dear, Vanessa, I'm so sorry for your loss. You have put into words almost exactly how it felt when my Mother passed away almost 4 years ago. There was a sudden gap in continuity, as if a train had somehow jumped its track and started heading down a different one. Now I've gotten more accustomed to this new world, the one without her, but it was a painful transition. Sincere condolences.
Hey MN, I wanted to take a moment to write you a note about your Gram. I know it's hard. The same thoughts and questions plagued by mind when my best buddys' sister died in a car accident. It was such a helpless feeling, not knowing where she was, and missing her so much, and seeing the pain that her absence caused her friends and family. And those reality shocks, finding myself thinking automatically "oh man, can't wait to tell Marci about that movie. Bet she'll really like it." only to realize she wasn't just "not here", but gone. Gone somewhere where I couldn't touch her anymore. Or stand her for the beer I owed her, gorramit.
I know your Gram knows you love her, even though you can't tell her anymore. She was a special lady, since she had a hand in making you.
Much love,
Hera
Oh Vanessa, I had no idea! I am so sorry to hear about your gram. There's nothing really more I can say, except what you've put here in your blog is so heart-felt, honest, and amazing. It's how I felt when I lost my grandfather many years ago, but didn't know how to give it voice.
My thoughts are with you, and if you need anything at all, just let me know.
Dear Vanessa,
I've been catching up on all of the goings-on since I came home from vacation -- your blog seemed to jump right off the page as I was scrolling by. We really haven't been formally introduced, but I, too, wanted to offer my condolences on the loss of your grandma.
My grandma died, too, just months ago. It doesn't matter how old we are, or how old we become, we'll always be our grandma's little girl in our hearts. As I write this, I am crying with you, for both of us. But smiling, too, because no matter that the little, frail body is no longer here, the memories, the pictures of your grandma that you carry in your wallet and in your mind will always be there for you. You will be able to smile through your tears, as I've learned; that will come in time. The way that life looks, well, that's going to take a bit longer. After drag-racing my cousin, Robert, on the way back to the house after the graveside service, he wailed to me "That's the last time we'll ever get to "go to Grandma's house"!"
But remember, you'll always be Grandma's little girl.
Fondly,
Sherice
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