At twenty-one years young I only have one grandparent remaining. I can finally say that out loud without sobbing.
While I miss all of my family members that I have lost, my grandmother, Olympia Falsone, tugs on my heartstrings a little more than them all.
My grandmother, Olympia, had lived with my family for fourteen years. Now, while people are typically close with their family, especially their grandparents, my relationship with my grandmother was unique.
Not only did I see her almost every single day as I grew up, but she closely watched my brothers and me. She saw my face every single Christmas morning as I cheered with glee because Santa came and witnessed my heartbreak when my fifth grade boyfriend left me for my best friend. She supported me even when I color coordinated my braces for the upcoming holiday. She met my first real boyfriend and held me as I sobbed when we had broken up because he cheated on me. She let me watch game shows and westerns with her and would tuck me into her bed as she slept on her recliner chair. She would let me complete her cross-word puzzles even though she was a rockstar at them. She made me noodles with butter when my mother was away because she knew I hated pasta with peas unlike my father and brothers. She saw me achieve all my accomplishments I set my mind to when it came to beating my personal record in track or cross country or within my education. She saw me graduate high school and would constantly tell me that, “I’m the smartest little girl.” She laughed at all my jokes and knew all of my best friends. She was not only my grandmother, but also my friend’s grandmother.
On January 15th, I held her hand as she took her last breath and as tears continued to stain my cheeks, I couldn’t help but feel relief. My grandmother was the healthiest 90-year old I knew and she would still be here today if it weren’t for the horrendous brain tumor that ended her life. On Christmas Eve her doctor called and told us the news. They told us how serious this situation was and how life altering it would be. We were told it could be six months, maybe even a year. It took twenty-two days. Twenty-two days of being opened to the truth. Twenty-two days of suffering. Twenty-two days of heartache. This tumor was so aggressive and rapid that my family and I couldn’t help but feel some sense of relief that it was so quick.
People say as time goes on it will get easier. The pain will begin to subside. Your heart won’t hurt as much with each passing day. The memories will be more blissful than a sense of mourning the loss. While this is true in some regard, I can honestly say it is also complete bullsh*t. I miss my grandmother every single day. My heart still hurts every single day. And while some days may be more painful than others, I do not see the pain fully disappearing for as long as I live.
So, as this holiday season continues on, hug your family a little tighter. Return your aunt’s phone call and do not sigh when the conversation exceeds ten minutes. Say, “I love you” to your brother or sister even if you think they already know. Kiss your mom and dad even though you’re in college now. Holidays remind us of how fortunate we are to have such wonderful, loving families. I wish I could hear my grandmother laugh one more time. I wish I could tell her how much she means to me and how much I love her. I wish I could run inside my house when I come home from college and jump on her in her recliner chair. But I can’t. So, please do me (and yourself) a favor this holiday season and hug your family a little tighter and tell them how much they mean to you.