Loss

All the Things I’ve Wanted to Tell You These Past Three Years

Everyday at least one thing occurs that I would have wanted to tell you about. It could be something that happened with me or something that I saw. More often than not it’s something funny Daniel or Lucas did that I know you’d love.

Speaking of Daniel and Lucas, you would love them so much. You’d get a kick out of all the boys. I feel bad for them because they’re going to grow up without you. I always tell Christopher how lucky he is that he got to spend the first six years of his life with you.

He misses you a lot. We all do.

A lot has happened the three years since you’ve been gone. I hope you’re proud of me. I always think about that letter you left me where you encouraged me to always follow my dreams. I haven’t followed all those dreams yet but I’m working on it.

All the things I’ve accomplished the past year were a little bittersweet. Things aren’t the same if I can’t share them with you.

You were my person. The one I always wanted to tell everything.

I’m sorry I don’t talk to you as much I want to. I want to believe that someway you can hear me but it’s not easy. But I hope with all my heart that you can. I hope that you’re still out there somewhere and that you’re happy.

I hope you look down on the family you had to leave with pride. Sorry that we’re not quite as close as we were when you were alive. But we’re trying.

I’m sorry that sometimes an entire day goes by that I don’t think about you. But you’re always in my heart.

And sorry that I’m apologizing so much. I know you’d hate that and tell me to stop being ridiculous.

I just have so many things that I’d love to say to you if I were given one more chance to see you. But the most important thing I want to tell you is that I miss you. All the time. I miss your face. I miss your laugh. I miss your smile. I miss your cooking. I miss watching TV with you. I miss playing cards. I miss our trips to the supermarket. I miss venting to you. I miss your advice.

I miss you.

What They Don’t Tell You When You Lose Someone

harry potter - the ones who love us never really leave usI am going to apologize in advance for the tone of today’s blog. I know you guys are used to my humorous posts that are never serious, but I just cannot provide you with that today. Today is the one year anniversary of my grandmother’s death. Losing her was the hardest thing I ever had to deal with. My grandmother wasn’t just the “little old lady handing out butterscotch candies from her purse” type. She was my favorite person in the entire world. My best friend. Whether something good or bad happened, she was the first person I would want to talk to. She was extraordinary. I credit so much of who I am today to her.

When she passed away last year after an almost year long battle with lung cancer, I was devastated. I didn’t know how to deal with it and I am still trying to figure it out. So many people were there to give me words of condolences. And while their words didn’t succeed in making me feel better, it was nice to know I had people there for me.

But no one could really prepare me for what I’d go through dealing with the death of my grandmother.

No one told me that my anxiety would get worse than it’s ever been before. That I would constantly think of things to agonize over as though my brain were trying to distract me from the real issues I had to deal with.

No one told me just how much I would struggle with my own faith. I am not a religious person and have never been sure of what happens when someone passes. But after my grandmother’s death, it was all I could think about. I envy people who truly believe that she is in a better place.

No one told me how true Anya’s fruit punch speech from Buffy is. Any new recipe I ever try, my grandmother won’t be able to be a taste tester. She’ll never be able to watch another episode of Downton Abbey.

No one told me that I will get these urges where I want to talk about my grandmother constantly but never actually have the nerve to bring her up.

No one told me that the first time I go almost a whole day without thinking about my grandmother, I would feel incredibly guilty.

No one told me that I’d soon realize going a whole day without thinking about my grandmother is impossible. She was so much a part of my life that it’s difficult for her not to pop up in my head eventually.

No one told me how much I would miss hearing her laugh. That the pain from missing her would be almost unbearable at times.

No one told me that even now I will be doing fine and then all of a sudden find myself crying.

No one told me that the first year after her death would be the longest year of my life.

And lastly, no one told me that I’d miss her just as much, if not more, a year later. The death of my grandmother is something I will never get over. Sure I’ve learned to live with it. I’ve laughed. I’ve had fun. I’ve enjoyed life. But there will always be something missing that can never be replaced.