Me, one year ago. Wearing my grandma's pretty red nail polish.
A year ago today I was awoken by my grandpa yelling at my dad, I jumped out of bed and ran down the hall...only to find my grandmother dead in their bed. Lifeless, with an ambulance on the way. There was no point, she was gone. Her frail body was just that, a body, and nothing more. No sweet words from her lips and no more look of suffering on her face. At the time, nothing seemed peaceful about the situation. Now, I look back and find nothing but peace for her. She had a long journey and three types of cancer - her time was done, she needed rest. I'd never had a family member pass away that I was close to. I'd never seen a dead body. My heart had never been so heavy. I will never forget that morning. It still weighs on my mind and I find myself replaying the entire day in my head often. There is still something oddly spiritual about the whole situation, even for a self-proclaimed Agnostic. It was beautiful but confusing in far more ways than I could have ever imagined.
A year ago today I was awoken by my grandpa yelling at my dad, I jumped out of bed and ran down the hall...only to find my grandmother dead in their bed. Lifeless, with an ambulance on the way. There was no point, she was gone. Her frail body was just that, a body, and nothing more. No sweet words from her lips and no more look of suffering on her face. At the time, nothing seemed peaceful about the situation. Now, I look back and find nothing but peace for her. She had a long journey and three types of cancer - her time was done, she needed rest. I'd never had a family member pass away that I was close to. I'd never seen a dead body. My heart had never been so heavy. I will never forget that morning. It still weighs on my mind and I find myself replaying the entire day in my head often. There is still something oddly spiritual about the whole situation, even for a self-proclaimed Agnostic. It was beautiful but confusing in far more ways than I could have ever imagined.
I love you Grandma, you are incredibly missed.
"People disappear when they die. Their voice, their laughter, the warmth of their breath. Their flesh. Eventually their bones. All living memory of them ceases. This is both dreadful and natural. Yet for some there is an exception to this annihilation. For in the books they write they continue to exist. We can rediscover them. Their humor, their tone of voice, their moods. Through the written word they can anger you or make you happy. They can comfort you. They can perplex you. They can alter you. All this, even though they are dead. Like flies in amber, like corpses frozen in ice, that which according to the laws of nature should pass away is, by the miracle of ink on paper, preserved. It is a kind of magic."
-The Thirteenth Tale, Diane Setterfield
