Home. Family. Remember that place? Remember those people? At times while one is wrapped up in their life at school, they have the tendency to forget about the people that got them there. In the midst of all this, sometimes a bombshell drops on them that immediately draws them back to the place they’ve known for so long before they arrived at school.
In my personal case, it was the death of my grandmother. My second semester just began and I was finally getting reacquainted with my new schedule after a long winter break.
One morning, as I was in the dining hall toasting a bagel, I scrolled through my Facebook newsfeed. I came upon a post from my cousin which began with the heartbreaking words, “Heartbreak doesn’t even begin to convey the words…..” I scrolled a little more to find a photo of my grandma, my Mamie with him. I knew what had happened without even finishing reading the post. Angry, hurt, sad, and confused, I ran out of the dining hall and back to my room. Immediately, I was embraced by my roommates who have given me nothing but endless support over the last few weeks. In the midst of all this, I was trying, without success to get in contact with my family. When I finally did, I cried and tried to make sense of what was happening.
I was home two days later, and in an odd way, it was refreshing to be home. I had left home early from break because I couldn’t wait to get back to school, and once I returned, I realized the valuable time I had missed out on during break.
When it came to the actual arrangements, I could not have been more excited to see my other relatives. That may seem like a terrible thing to say regarding a funeral, but I barely made an effort to see these people during the 6 weeks I was home for break.
While it was a mournful occasion, we made the best of it. We laughed at some of Mamie’s shining moments, like how she would complain about how her hair looked like a mop when it hadn’t been permed for a long time. We cried when we talked about the time leading up to her death. We smiled when we thought about the endless love she had for each and everyone of us: 5 sisters, 10 kids, 19 grandkids, 37 great grandkids, and 4 great great grandkids, plus all our spouses, friends, and neighbors.
The night of the viewing my cousins and I got together to watch the Super Bowl, stuff our faces after a long viewing with 339 people present, and to be the goofy people we genuinely were without facing the judgment of our parents or aunts.
I hate wording it this way, but that was one of the best nights of my life. It was the first time I got to hang out with my cousins without having them worry about being good role models for me.
(It’s hard being the 19th grandchild because of this. It’s very hard to connect because sometimes you’re seen as their own child.)
We knew why we were there, and through it all, we all figured out how much this beautiful woman meant to us. You don’t expect 55 year olds and 17 year olds, but you didn’t know my Mamie, she had the power to make each one of us feel incredibly special. She had some unique skill to bring together family members who had never met each other, and turn them into lifelong friends.
That night I grew so much closer to my cousins. I bonded with my cousin who I hadn’t seen in years due to his work in the service. I took shots with cousins who I pictured as straitlaced role models to their multiple children, and I got to know about my cousin’s wild days in his fraternity.
The morning of the funeral was a difficult one. My grandmother’s children, her grown children with families and grandkids of their own sobbed like children. Somehow my father, the only living son, who had somehow managed to hold it together slowly began to crumble. I had written a letter to Mamie and slipped in the casket. It was then that I had began to felt closure with the situation. I gave her my final words, recognized I’d see her later and began to feel stronger.
As the mass began, I truly saw her impact on every single person she met. Let me tell you, I was an altar server for 9 years of my life and I have NEVER seen a priest of all people shed a tear at a funeral. I had never heard a homily so moving, so beautiful. During that mass, in the members of my family practicing and non practicing alike, I had never felt closer to them or to God.
In the midst of all this, I began to realize the huge support system I had outside my relatives. The minute I found out about what happened, my roommates were there to comfort me, they listened to every story, looked at every picture I came across, and stayed up with me to talk about how I was feeling. My boyfriend and his family acted likewise, being the family I had when I couldn’t be with mine immediately. In years past, I was very good at hiding how I truly felt about what was happening in my life. Hofstra’s Neumann Club prayed for my family, and helped me reconnect with my growing distance from the Church. I don’t know where I would be without my beautiful friends. I stayed subtle, nearly silent, never wanting to be a burden. It is such a shame to say that it takes tragedy to come alive, but it was through this I had such a strong support system by my side. My college friends listened and didn’t mind if I took the entirety of meals just to talk. My friends from home were able to drop everything and comfort me, no matter where they were in the world that day. It is because of them I found peace in myself.
I returned home about a month and a half later. I already mentioned how I began to see my dad break down and realize the realism in all that was happening. She was 99 years old and in much better shape than any other elderly person I knew. We all thought she was unbreakable. I used to make jokes about how my dad was more whipped to his mom than he is to my own. We had visited the house during my time home, and I was amazed to see how much stuff was cleaned out of it. I was even more amazed to see my dad continuing to check up on the garage and cleaning up the yard. Not to make a joke here, but I could see why. In the past I interpreted all the tasks he did for his mom like mowing the lawn and getting groceries as something he had to do because it was his obligation. Now, I could see it because of his unfaltering love he had for her. In the time since the funeral, he still took care of the house, and made his checkups on areas involving what would happen to other members of my family. I had seen how the death changed my dad, he is a more solemn man. My dad has always been the manly man with a mischievous side. He’s slower to get angry, and quicker to comfort. My dad was one of those “live for the moment” kind of guys, but now the future is frequently discussed. My dad is dealing with this loss just as much as I am, this was the woman who bore and raised him for crying out loud. Since then my relationship with my father has been stronger than ever.
I’ve learned quite a few lessons in the past 7 weeks.
Loss in college is so different from any other time of loss. You forget that life at home doesn’t stop when you go away. You miss some events, and it’s not your fault. It is okay, life will go on.
Your relationships with your family will change. You’re not a little kid who everyone has to cheer up or beat around the bush about what really happened to your relative. Nothing is sugar coated anymore. It finally settles into your family that you’re an adult, it’s the beginning of them really treating you as such.
However, your relationships will grow. Because I’m an adult, I get to hear about all kinds of adult issues with relatives. I’ve learned how to properly take a shot, debated politics, and learned about family members who have passed before I was even around. And I’ve cherished every single one.
You remember that you have a life elsewhere. So, call home. You may be trying to get a handle on what you’re supposed to do with your life, but you can’t forget about the people who helped get you to this place. They are mourning just as much as you are, and they will need longer time to get back to normal.
Your support system is endless. I don’t need to hide. Your friends are your friends for a reason. They support you in your darkest hours and lift you up in your time of need. They’ll show you unconditional love and listen, and sometimes, that’s all you need in times like this.
And perhaps, the most important lesson:
That person you lost is still with you. The day Mamie died was the sunniest day I had seen in Hempstead in awhile. Her radiant smile shone down on me on the darkest day I had experienced in a long time. Later that day, I found a necklace that had been missing for almost a month. Funny timing isn’t it? On the day I visited the house a month after the funeral, a day that was incredibly overcast, my dad and I investigated the things that were left for the garbage trucks on her property. As my dad scanned the yard, I noticed some daffodils. It was still the middle of winter, a bit early for daffodils to sprout. No one had been home to take care of them, yet there they were standing bright, yellow, and strong, pretty similar to my Mamie. I saw her in the daffodils, I see her in the sunshine, I feel her with me in the stressed out times. She is always watching over me.
I can’t promise you that things will go back to the way they were before, that might take awhile, or it might not happen at all. However, that shouldn’t stop you from living your best life. That’s what your loved one would want for you, I can assure you of that. Love endlessly, take time for yourself, support your family, and just like what your dearly departed would want,
live.
In Loving Memory of Veronica M. Donahue 1916-2016