Three Weeks

Tomorrow, or in all reality, a half an hour from now, marks the three week anniversary of Gram’s passing. I miss her. Every. Single. Day. I’m doing better, I’m coping, I’m living. I’m looking for the small things to keep me happy. I feel stronger. I reassure myself that it was her time and that she is better off than any of us. But I miss her. And I wonder how long I will count her passing in weeks. At some point, it will become a yearly anniversary. Even then, we’ll start to question how many years has it been. That realization makes me sad. As it does in regards to my papa and my aunt Marianne. It makes me feel like they have somehow become less to me, even if I miss them more, in some ways.

Grief and loss are tricky bastards. Ones, as a child, I wished desperately to avoid. As only a child can, with blind faith, I prayed nightly that my family would live forever. Every single one of us. So that we never had to be apart and I would never have to lose anyone that I loved. I’m not angry at God that He didn’t answer my prayers as I asked for them. I trust somewhere in His infinite wisdom He probably has a better plan than I do. Comes with the territory I suppose. Still, I miss the loved ones that have crossed over.

In case anyone is wondering or hasn’t figured it out, yes, I certainly believe in an afterlife. I believe that our loved ones communicate with us in some ways. Even if we don’t understand it because we are too busy to notice. Also, I am a woman of faith. Religion? Church? Those things I tend to take issue with but faith, faith never fails me. I have faith that my family members are now in heaven. I have faith I’ll be there too one day. I love faith.

In the days following Gram’s passing I found myself unable to cry. The day she passed I cried my eyes out on and off all day. Several days later I was watching Grey’s Anatomy. A very emotional scene played out before my eyes, one that was not unlike what I just experienced in my own life, in a hospital, with my family. I didn’t shed a tear. I’m a woman that tears up over commercials. I was suddenly concerned that I had lost my ability to cry. I was scared that I was undergoing a personality shift that would leave me detached, cold, unfeeling. Tonight, as I close in on the third week anniversary of her death, I’m tearing up over the tv. I’m getting back to myself. That is a bit of a comfort.

I’m feeling a lot stronger nowadays. I feel like Gram knows I need to live. I am not beating myself up anymore for how I “think,” I should feel, and for not acting that way. I am grieving. I miss her. I still find myself looking for her as I enter a room. I keep waiting to hear her laugh or one of her smart ass comments. When the realization hits that that won’t be happening, I’m sad. I find there is this empty ache in my heart for her. For Papa. For Aunt Marianne, Aunt Mickey. The list starts to build. And then I remember they are all together somewhere, happy, healthy. I start to focus on the good times, the good memories. They way they made me feel. I find that emptiness getting filled to the brim with love. I can’t be sad when I’ve been blessed with so many wonderful, incredible people in my life. I have to live. For me. for them. For all the ones I love that are still here.

Yes, one day I won’t be counting my loss in weeks. One day… it will just be, “my Gram is gone.” While it is bittersweet, it will be progress. For now, I’m 22 minutes away from the three week anniversary of my Grandmother’s passing. Love you Queen Margaret.

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