One of the hardest things to go through in life is to lose someone. No one expects or can prepare for it, but we all know we will face it. It’s just the circle of life, right? But what happens when that dreaded day does come? And you are faced with the reality that someone you love is gone forever.
On February 19, 2019, I lost someone special to me. My dear grandmother, whom I spent most of my life with, was sick with cancer and was slowly losing the light in her day by day. I still remember that day. It was winter, cold, and snow was falling outside. A beautiful scene outdoors, not quite matching the mood of that evening. I grieved heavily that week. I felt like I had been transported to another world. So many people were coming over, saying their condolences, but I couldn’t remember who passed. Nothing seemed real, and the emotions swimming inside me were uncomfortable. What I remember most that month was the night sky covering me in darkness, similar to how I felt inside.
I wanted to forget. So I went to school, met my friends, and finished those quizzes. It was my second year of high school. I had to focus on my school. It’s better to act normal, right? Nothing major even happened, I kept telling myself (I missed her).
People told me to get over it and that I was depressed and needed help. What hurt the most was the comment, “No one grieves like this.”
Were they right? Was I grieving incorrectly?
Eventually, spring came, and four months had passed since her passing. I felt okay. Life seemed to be normal. It should have been fine. It shouldn’t hurt anymore. But then, during that small moment of peace, everything crashes down on me. I realized that she was gone, and I missed her so much. Everything reminded me of her, from the patterned carpet on the floor to the jewelry dangling off my ears. She is everywhere and with me at all times. It is almost as if she never left (Where are you?). Every night, a tear dropped from my eye, and nightmares of her final days passed through my mind on replay like a song. Most things made me anxious. I might have been traumatized from winter.
The once-green leaves started falling. Fall is here, and it has been a whole year. Summer flew by quickly that year. I guess time passes by quicker when you are distracted. Big changes were happening at this time. I was in grade 11, and university was just around the corner. The stress and anxiety of school took away the pain of my loss. I was doing better.
But winter came back here, and suddenly, it had been two years since she passed. It was quarantine season, and I spent my days at home, thinking. I questioned what life would look like if she were still alive. I would have spent the pandemic with her. I would learn her language and have meaningful conversations with her. She would teach me how to sew, and I would finally get that hole in my sock covered. Life would be happy. I would have been happy. But she’s not here, and I had to accept that. (Acceptance is near…not close, but near.)
The sun started shining, and the seasons of summer arrived. It had been three years. I was still not over it and will never be. That year was harder for me. So many changes have happened. I often sat by her grave, just ranting about all my days.
“I got my driver’s licence; remember when I told you I would drive you around the city?”
“I got into university. Are you proud?”
“I dyed my hair blonde. Do you like it?”
“I tried cooking a meal for the family, and I put in extra love like you said to do,”
“I miss you every day.”
“You’re not coming back, right.”
Five years since she passed, it was winter again. I still get sad at the thought of her name, but the ache is not as bad. Happiness looks good on me. Bad days will come, followed by good ones. Life moves on, and it gets easier. (I miss and love her but have accepted that she is gone. One day, we might meet and say hello. But for now, I am okay with looking up at the sky and giving a wave.)
Grief is such a complicated emotion. It makes doing everything and anything difficult. But it does get better, that I can promise you. The sky clears up, and life goes on.