It was an average Monday morning. I had been at work for about three hours when my phone started ringing. I was on my way to our warehouse (which is where the ladies room is located) and I saw it was my dad calling me. My dad isn't a huge fan of talking on the phone, plus he doesn't typically bother me at work unless it is important, so I hurried to the back of the warehouse and answered. My dads voice was quite and subdued.
Let's backup for a second... Up until this point, I had three living grandparents. My maternal grandfather died in 2008 due to complications from a previous heart surgery. His wife, my grandmother, has always been a rather sickly woman and after the death of her husband, her health began to steadily decrease. She married my grandfather when she was just 16 years old and—although she would never admit it—the stress from my grandfathers passing slowly took over and soon her body and mind began to deteriorate. She was diagnosed with dementia and had been living in an assisted living facility in Arizona for the last year. When I would visit she would look right through me as if I were a ghost. It was difficult to engage her in a conversation or to obtain a cohesive response. We knew it was only a matter of time before her body gave out, just like her mind had. My other two grandparents were my dads mother and father. They lived one street over from me while I was growing up. They would regularly take me or pick me up from school, attend school functions, and have us over for dinner. My grandmother has always been unashamedly opinionated and verbally expressive almost to a fault. She wasn't always the easiest person to get along with. My grandfather is a military man and engineer—the quite type, an observer. He goes with the flow and doesn't rock the boat. My grandmother has always been overweight and struggled with diabetes, but other than that both of them have been seemingly healthy. Recently she had been eating better—still refusing to excersie—and her diabetes seemed to be under control. I had spoken with her about two weeks prior and she seemed to be doing fine. Mark and I were planning to head up there in the next few weekends to visit.
With a solemn tone, my dad said, "your grandma died". Obviously I wasn't expecting him to utter those words when I picked up the phone, so my first reaction was, "wait... what? How? What happen?". My dad is the strongest person I know. He is generally composed and acts as the backbone to our family. But this time, he sounded different...broken, somber, defeated. I had never heard him sound so melancholy. I was positive he was referring to my mothers mom—afterall, she was living in a constant state of unknown and we could only imagine the abundance of anxiety she must be in. Suddenly, something clicked, "which grandma?!" I asked. It took him a few seconds to get the words out. "My mom", he replied. I immediately went into denial/shock mode. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. She had been laughing and loving life at my wedding just four months earlier. We'd spoken on the phone and gone up there to see her recently and everything seemed fine—she was FINE! I had so many questions, but I couldn't even speak. I was overwhelmingly overcome with sadness and grief. I could barely move. I made my way to bathroom where I could get some privacy and compose myself. A few minutes later I resurfaced and I knew I needed to head home and be with my family.
I didn't actually consider myself close with my paternal grandparents until about 8 years ago. I think when they moved away to Hemet, CA and weren't centrally located to their entire family, they (my grandmother, in particular) realized the importance of family and how much they missed seeing us as frequently as they used to. Mark and I started making recurrent trips to Hemet on the weekends to visit with them. My grandma and I started calling each other fairly often to catch up on life. Her and I became very close and in the years leading up to her death she would cry every time we hung up the phone. On several occasions I would ask her why she was upset and she would reply, "because I love you so much". I think it was a combination of happiness that she was able to witness my life come together—I had graduated college, got engaged, got a new job, and got married. But I also think she recognized that she was getting older and that her time to share with the ones she loved was limited.
It has been six months since she left us and there isn't a day that goes by that I don't think of her. Sometimes I do get angry that she couldn't still be here to witness me have children and continue living my life with Mark. She wanted to be a great-grandmother in the worst way. I feel guilty that I couldn't give her that. I have to constantly remind myself that I am lucky to have had the close relationship with her that I did. She loved me so much and was excessively proud of me and the woman I have become. I am fortunate that she was able to attend my wedding, my bridal shower, my graduation from high school and college, etc. Grandparents aren't supposed to be in your life forever. They are there to show you a different kind of love—a love you learn from and are forever grateful for. I still cry when I sit on my bed at night and stare at her luminous face in a picture of my wedding that hangs by my nightstand. I don't even enjoy meat, but I still get hungry for her infamous fried chicken when I drive by a KFC because I know I will never have it again. I still eat egg-on-toast for breakfast sometimes, in honor of my favorite meal she would make me before taking me to school as a child.
It hasn't been easy on anyone—especially this guy...
BUT, we have managed to pull through as a family and retain some sort of normalcy. My grandfather has moved back to Orange, CA and my mom and I bring him dinner 2-3 times a week. He also comes over every Sunday morning for a "he-man" breakfast. Moving local has helped my grandpa cope with the loss of his wife. He spends a lot of time with friends and family. As my last surviving grandparent, I have never been so grateful to have him in my life as I have for the past six months.
*Two months (almost to the day) after my paternal grandmother passed away, my maternal grandmother also passed away. Can 2015 be a better year, please?
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