Grandma

When big issues now seem small.
You know what I'm talking about.
Last night I found out that my Grandma died.
In the early morning, a massive heart attack took her life.
It feels weird. An email from Rebecca revealed the news.
After my mom died I found comfort in my Grandma.
Somehow together we made it seem that mom was still here.
Now she’s gone. I knew it would come someday.

Death is scary to me. I’m not afraid of dieing.
I’m afraid of people I love dieing.
My biggest fear is when my Dad dies.

Grandma is gone. She died. She always wanted to die.
She was funny that way.
I guess I’d feel the same if I had to live her life.
But she was one hell of a woman.
A fighter to the bone.
And actually I believed she would out live us all.
I remember spending summers with her.
Learning to sew. She desperately tried to teach me mathematics.
My whole family thought I would suffer in academics.
We would have daily lessons.
I spent time with her after mom and dad divorced.
Her first husband died of a heart aneurism.
She never got along with her second husband, Talmage.
He was a simple man that owned a lawn service company in Ft. Madison, Iowa. She thought he was stupid.
Literally.

She loved dolls.
Collected hundreds of them.

She laughed uncontrollably after her first stroke.
Laughter would consume her.
In the middle of a conversation, she would start laughing.
The kind that would have everyone else laughing for no reason.
I love her.

Now I have to let her go.
Even though for the past 2 years I haven’t kept in touch with her.
What a horrible person I am.
Feeling guilty.
I hate my family for that. We have fostered this weird independence.
And never feel compelled to keep in touch.
Months and years will go by without any communication.

So now, I take a deep breath. Hold back the well of tears.
Another one gone.
Her voice, the memory of her stand still in my mind and pierce my heart.

This is what I hate. I hate letting go.