Wind-chime laughter, apple slices set neatly on a plate. Primroses, rosaries, and fairy tales set in a nearby forest. A white horse, childhood anecdotes, and snarky comments. Wafers, herbs, crossword puzzles. Soup operas she’d brief us on as soon as we came in every time we visited.
It’s Wednesday morning, and my brother is knocking on my door. Mom is calling us. We have to go downstairs. Eyes wide open. I knew what it was. We’re about to hear what we’ve been suspecting for some time.
In a span of a heartbreaking moment, I went from standing by my grandma’s bed, holding her hand, to watching her coffin being lowered to the ground. That shift broke me.
We knew it was coming. She was suffering for a long time. A woman who never cried, in agony, pleading with God to take her. She’s not hurting anymore, and for that, I have to put my selfish wishes aside. I wanted her to be with me forever, but I knew that it wouldn’t be like that anyway, and that only became a nearer reality once we heard the diagnosis.
I don’t know what to say anymore. The two of them are the pillars of my life, my happy place, and a loss I’ve been dreading my whole life. Anytime would’ve been too soon. For your grandparents, you’re always a child.
My Little Hawk 