Unknown Loss

Isn’t it strange how sometimes you don’t realize how much a person means to you until they are gone? I’ve known for awhile now that my grandmother was ill, and that she didn’t have long left. I didn’t really think about it much, I guess I didn’t believe it on some level. She never seemed like the vulnerable type to me, though I should have known she was every bit as fragile as the rest of us. I don’t think the whole thing really sank in until today.

I came home from work today, and my mother said "Once you get your shoes off, come up to my room. We need to talk." Somehow I knew what she was going to say, but I felt a sense of detachment over it. It felt like she was someone else’s Grandmother, or some stranger I had no connection to. I took off my shoes slowly, my thoughts directed entirely inwards, examining my own detachment.

I claimed the stairs in a zombie-like state, and stood at the door to my mother’s room waiting for her to confirm what I suspected.

"I got a call from your father, it’s about your grandma. They don’t think she’s going to make it through the night."

I felt nothing new in that moment. Not emptiness, sorry, or loss. I felt only guilt. I felt guilty that I didn’t feel grief, I felt guilty that I never sent a card all those times my relatives told me to, and I felt even more guilty that I couldn’t seem to remember her much.

I talked to my mother then, about grief, family, and events in my life that my grandmother had been a part of. As we spoke I searched within myself for her face, or any memory of the woman who lay in terminal condition in Hamilton.

For a few minutes nothing came to me, and then a vision formed in my mind. A vision of a small box. I didn’t recognize it right away, but something inside me told me it was significant. The box took shape as I contemplated it, and I felt my throat tighten, even as a sad smile spread across my face.

"I just remembered something about her," I told my mother. "She gave Amy and I chocolates every Christmas From Santa"

What a strange thing to suddenly remember, but it opened the floodgates for me. Suddenly my mind replayed flashes of her. Her home, her cooking, her face, and her smile all came back to me. I left my mother’s room at that point, I had too many things going through my mind. I had to be alone.

They were all forcing their way into my mind, memories of times spent with her that I’d long forgotten. I lay on the couch in the basement, struggling to control myself. I couldn’t stop tears from forming, running down my cheeks as they had not in a long time. I came to realize for the first time how much she really meant to me. How much I loved her.

I sit now writing this in an attempt to distract myself. It’s been several hours since my mother received that call, though only 4 hours since she informed me. I don’t know if my grandmother is still with us, and I don’t know if anyone in my family will think to call me when the time comes.

I love you, Grandma. I wish I’d had the chance to tell you that one last time. My prayers go with you.