Well here we are. I travelled home to find you about how I expected you; in your last bed with tubes running this way and that, dealing with rampant pain, zero mobility, irritable as all hell, just wishing for it all to be over. Now after having been here for two days and seen your rapid decline from bad to comatose, I feel slightly bad in finding myself at peace with the whole thing.
On Friday afternoon, I said goodbye to you.
You looked so beautiful when you took your last breaths that I can’t react; too mesmerized by the rightness I find in the peace that seemed to be emanating from you. I keep trying to find the despair that I’ve been conditioned to believe I’m supposed to be feeling, but it just isn’t there, even as I looked at your face and felt the cold touch of death.
Towards the last few weeks, you were racked with depression, refused to get out of bed at times, refusing to eat.
Just the night before I kissed your hand and said one of my several goodbyes to you, and was glad to see you smile and say “I love you too baby”. I bet that it’s the saddest thing that I will witness during this time, but soon after, something magical happened. You closed your eyes and fell asleep.
You had been around for much of my life so far, that it seemed an unspoken promise that you would be around forever- a foolish thought that I had, that I could keep you for long. It is such times that I ought to have been reminding myself that loved objects will surely leave us, or are already leaving. Whatever life has granted us, it is really loaned to us.
It’s been a strange day as it is days after you gracefully departed Earth. I watched as you took some of your last breaths. I was there for your final hours. You slept peacefully as I read to you at your bedside. Then a few hours later you left us. It happened I think as you wanted it to happen; peacefully, and surrounded by your dearest family members. I can’t quite describe the full effect of the peace I have with the situation. It’s remarkable. The only thing that was really making me upset was when you were upset, and the moment of your actual passing. Other than that, I almost feel uncomfortable with the peace I feel knowing that you’re no longer suffering.
The typical eulogy will state that “you had gone to a better place”. Sure, I will allow myself to think that, but I’d prefer the analogy that you were freed from a prison of discomfort.
It matters not how much I had spent time with you, or how much your absence will be felt. What matters now is the presence you had been in life, that you played a significant part of my existence, that my life would have been lesser without you. The recollection of your memory will eventually become pleasant to me, even if it is bittersweet. I had the good fortune of having a grandmother close at hand. And your passing tells me to love those around me as if I should one day lose them, so that when I have lost them, I would have them still.
I promise that I will always remember you. I mention this because it is easy to get so caught up in daily routine that you don’t stop to think about those that have passed.
I promise to make something of myself, and make you proud. The only way I can think to do this is to achieve something grand – something worthy of a sense of accomplishment. When I feel I’m there, I’ll look to you.
I love you, and I will always cherish the time I was lucky enough to spend with you.
Goodbye my dearest Grandmother.
Your devoted granddaughter,
I ♥ you! oxox