I 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.