I'd said my final goodbye only an hour earlier but when I walked into the house, my eyes automatically went toward the kitchen and my ears strained to hear her voice or chuckle. I knew she wouldn't be there but then again, I didn't.
An hour wasn't enough time to let the finality sink in.
In many ways, we'll be saying goodbye again and again as the days and months unfold. Grief sneaks up on us that way, as we find moments that they should be there for or wonder what they'd think. Right now it's fresh, an open wound.
I'd never been in their house without her presence. He might go to the gym or see a friend, while she read a book or worked on needlepoint.
I had to mentally pause as I slipped my shoes off by the door. I had to pause and remember. And even though I joined everyone at the table and munched on a cookie for lunch, I kept pausing.
The evidence filled the house: this was an unfinished life.
The bookmark placed in the Mary Higgins Clark mystery, a couple of other books waiting on the living room end table. Envelopes found filled with pictures of the grandkids, perhaps to be distributed to us this Christmas. A needlepoint half completed, the very one she'd worked on Sunday, the day our lives all changed.
He's now charged with unloading the dishwasher and starting the coffeemaker. He must learn how to fill out a deposit slip and decide whether the crease in his pants is important enough to keep ironing. In so many ways, she took care of him. Who will fill that void?
I sat at the table as Aunt Kathy paged through the photo albums and I heard stories for the first time. This whole new side of Grandma came to light and I only wished she was there to join in the laughter.
I think back to the last time I saw her, way back in July. A family party no one expected me to attend but I drove straight there from Nashville. I don't remember the conversation, only the circle of chairs in the backyard of Brian's house. I remember how she wasn't home when I called on her birthday. Now there are no more chances.
I question. Oh, how I question.
Did she know that I loved her? Did I do enough to be a good granddaughter? Why was this her time? Why did we have to make a choice in a hospital room? Why does that have to be my last memory?
We face my brother's wedding and Thanksgiving and Christmas and all the other future milestones. With each one we will be forced to accept her absence.
I am grandmotherless now. I cannot comprehend that neither will witness the outcome of my dreams. I hope my life will speak to their legacy.
There is no way to tie a bow around this package. It is unrelenting, unwieldy, and demands my attention. So I will process this goodbye one piece at a time. Even then, my grief will not be something to manage and then store on a shelf. But over time, I hope the tears lessen and the memories comfort.
I'm still my grandmother's granddaughter, even if she's not here. Today, I will remember.
Grandma and her first grandbaby: me!
