Grief is an odd thing. I don't think it ever quite ends, or I don't think it will in the case of Nana.
I know that I didn't properly grieve, it's hard to when consumed by schoolwork. That clicked during my final counseling session for the school year, when the dam of tears actually burst. My counselor was happy that the vulnerability had finally come, but I had suffered greatly between that Friday morning in May and the five months that had passed since my grandmother's death.
I did feel it. I still feel it. I felt it in the three months where I couldn't fall asleep at night without crying because my last memories of her played in my mind, and I couldn't rationalize the fact that in two weeks she went from not being able to finish a game of Rummy with me, to being with the Lord. I feel it when I replay a voicemail she left me on my phone last summer, it was just a simple message...she needed me to help her with something up in the trailer at Living Waters. I feel it when on the phone with my Papa, as I hear and feel his pain. I'm feeling it right now as I struggle with the fact that I won't be home this weekend for her burial. I feel like I am betraying her. My best friend and beloved grandmother, and I can't even come home for her burial?
Oh, how I wish it was not so complex.
Life goes on, but the pain is still raw. The only photo I brought out to school with me this past year was one of Papa and Nana taken at Disney in 2016, in honor of their 60th anniversary. It means I get to "see" her every day, even if I don't get to physically see her again until glory. I know she's still with me in a figurative sense. I wear a ring of hers most days, one that her fingers could no longer hold after they became thin and bony, it makes me feel like she is there. Whenever I buy an iced coffee, a regular occurrence as all of you know, I can hear her voice in the back of my mind sassing me with: "What are you doing?! You don't need that! You have a Keurig at home!"
But I've reached the point where I no longer attempt to call the house phone in the afternoon, knowing that Nana is not eagerly awaiting my daily call. I no longer daily check my mailbox, knowing that my weekly letter from Papa doesn't come until Friday. When referring to the house, I only slip occasionally in no longer calling it Nana and Papa's. I'm improving. The real test will be when I come home at Christmas, but I try not to think about that. I didn't think I could last six months without her, but here I am, still here.
I am trying to focus on the fact that her pain ended six short months ago, while I sat watching football at the Mach's. In that moment my life may have changed forever negatively, but she went on to a life so much better than I could ever imagine. So I am comforted in that.
But I've reached the point where I no longer attempt to call the house phone in the afternoon, knowing that Nana is not eagerly awaiting my daily call. I no longer daily check my mailbox, knowing that my weekly letter from Papa doesn't come until Friday. When referring to the house, I only slip occasionally in no longer calling it Nana and Papa's. I'm improving. The real test will be when I come home at Christmas, but I try not to think about that. I didn't think I could last six months without her, but here I am, still here.
I am trying to focus on the fact that her pain ended six short months ago, while I sat watching football at the Mach's. In that moment my life may have changed forever negatively, but she went on to a life so much better than I could ever imagine. So I am comforted in that.
"Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints." Psalm 116:15
Until we meet again, Nan.
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