How grief awakens something inside of us

My grandmother has been an important figure throughout my entire life.

I remember being 6 and crying myself to sleep because that's when I understood the concept of death. Back then, the possibility of losing her was unbearable for my 6 years old mind, and I kept thinking how unfair life will be for taking her away from me one day.

I have never seen my grandmother as a woman. She was always Granny, my beloved Granny, but as I am approaching my thirties, this made me think: she was a woman above all these things. Before being a wife to the grandfather, I have never met, before having her first child, second, third, and my mother. She was all these things, yet my mind always reduced her to just being Granny because she sacrificed herself for her family and lost her identity as an individual. Always, undoubtedly and unquestionably. She stopped being her own person when my grandfather came to her parents to ask for her hand in marriage. And I think that is tragic, though I am grateful for everything she did for me.

When she passed away, the news echoed my mind and my heart the same way your chest pounds when the music is too loud at a concert, only it was too quiet around me.

It was a little after 8 am when one of my aunts sent me a message to call her when I see the notification on my phone. Those messages crippled me with anxiety for months while she was unconscious in the hospital. I used to think that every message I got would be the one that says she died.

I never got the chance to say goodbye to her, the most important woman in my life. It bugged me for so long not remembering the last conversation I had with her or even the last time we spoke.

I was 28 and a half when I went to a funeral for the first time, and I couldn't say goodbye to her then. 

To whom do I say goodbye? 

She died, and the body she left behind is no longer Granny's. Granny, who picked me up from school every day, made me snacks, breakfast, lunch, and diner, who was my safe haven whenever I felt like being home was too much. She made me tea every morning and brought the food I liked wherever we went because she knew I was a picky eater. She showed she loved me by doing all these little things that made me a little spoiled.

But grandparents spoil their grandchildren, they are the ones to say yes when the parents tell them no, and my Granny was no exception to that.

Sometimes, as I do things around my house, I can feel her, and I don't believe in that stuff. Whenever I am in my bathroom, cleaning my face or washing my teeth, I get super anxious as I splash water on my face because it feels like I will see her behind me in the mirror when I open my eyes.

After she passed away, I would postpone going to bed because I was scared I would see her shape in the darkness somewhere in the room. But why was I nervous? I sure wasn't afraid of her, but her death was too painful, and I would come face to face with it once more.

Obviously, none of this supernatural scenario happened, and the feeling started to go away little by little, day by day, and now I still find myself a little alert when I wash my face, but I snap out of it quickly.

I am getting used to the fact that she is gone, and I will never see her again. And I think that is tragic too, but that's also life. Perhaps, it should be finite because otherwise, it would even lack the little meaning we struggle to find anyway.

This month, she would have been 84, and I keep thinking that's a long life, and then I remember how I am almost thirty and how quickly it got here. As eye-rolling as this might be, life is short. It's such a pity to live it surrounded by the wrong people, saying yes out of fear, not taking enough chances, doubting yourself, being stuck in a job that makes you miserable, and not having boundaries.

So how does grief awaken something inside of us? 

My personal experience was a bit laggy because I had a lot to process. But who doesn't? Still, I decided to go back to therapy, get to the root of my everlasting traumas, fears and anxieties, finally quit my job and tried to become a better person.

I have an image when I close my eyes, and I imagine the life I want to have, and I am trying to use it as a guide to help me get there.

There are still days when I don't want to do anything because I lack energy, but this year changed a lot. I became more active, took better care of myself, had some breakthroughs, and got closer to my partner, but I am still lightyears away from my goals. Yet, I decided to celebrate and be happy for every single thing that I am and I have today: supportive friends, a stable and safe home, and myself.

I haven't written anything just for me in such a long time, and I am judging every phrase here, but I think some writing should be honest and raw. And art -if you would like - spawns from pain most of the time.

There were days when I would open up my laptop and try to write something but didn't know what because something personal would have been too personal, so I would end up writing something light that had no meaning.

I could go on about this for days, about how Social Media made this place into a Barbie house where everything has to be perfect, edited, and positive. But in life, that is rarely the case. It's messy, painful but optimistic, and complicated but eventually turns out to be worth it.

The only thing I can hope for is that I can be comfortable and happy about the life I've lived so far when I'll turn 84.