We are coming up on the 1 year anniversary of my grandmother’s death and, to be honest, I don’t know how I feel. Sadness, of course, I am human. I miss her. SO. MUCH. I miss our weekly calls before she got sick and then our weekly visits, when she was at my parents’ house. I miss her advice and her stories from when she was growing up, and from when she was raising her kids. I miss the expression on her face when she would hand Addie a cookie or direct her to the bowl of candy; that same look I saw oh so often as a child. The way her eyebrows would raise just enough, her eyes would become big and childlike; the way that one expression would tell you that you probably shouldn’t be doing/having this, but I am grandma and I am your partner in crime, so what the hell.
Anger from not being able to share my son with her. To show her his beautifully round cheeks and infectious smile; to get a picture of her holding him, like I have of her holding Addie. An anger for my son, who does not get to meet the wonderful woman who would have loved on him with kisses, hugs, and sweets, lots of sweets. I was sad and angry that I could not call my grandma and hear her voice throughout my last pregnancy, and now my son will never know one of the most important women in my life. For that, I am angry.
Lastly, relief. Relief that I have survived this past year without her although I didn’t think it possible. I still long for her, cry for her, but each day that goes by I find a way to get by, a way to remember her, a way to keep her memory alive for years to come. I see her in my kids. They have her chin and her sparkle in their eyes. It reminds me that she will only ever be truly gone when I stop remembering. That’s not going to happen.
I love and miss you grandma.