😢 Finding My Way Through Grief

Grief has been a funny thing. It hasn’t follow a neat path, nor has it followed a set timeline. It’s a rollercoaster that constantly surprises me, always showing up when I least expect it, or sometimes not showing up at all, leaving me with a strange feeling of emptiness. Its been a difficult road after losing you, Grandma.

You weren’t just my grandma. You were a friend, a confidante, and, in many ways, a guiding star. When you passed away, I felt like the world had shifted on its axis. It felt like I had lost a piece of myself, a piece that I didn’t even realize was so integral to who I was until it was gone.

I remember the last time I saw you. You weren't your normal, spunky self, but you were still full of her quiet strength. I held your hand and let you know I was there. While I was there, it felt like home, even though you were beginning to fade. I remember singing Christmas Carol's, especially Silent Night, your favorite. I'll never forget watching you sing along, even in the state you were in. When I said goodbye and told you I loved you, I thought I'd get the chance to see you one more time.

I was wrong.

The text messages came the very next day. The ones I always knew would come, but that I never really prepared for. My heart sank, and I just stared at the phone in disbelief for a moment before the floodgates opened. I wasn’t ready. How could I be?

The days that followed were a blur. People rallied around, offering condolences and trying to keep things moving. But inside, I felt like I was walking through a fog. Every smile, every word of comfort, felt hollow because none of it could fill the space you left behind.

I thought the pain would be overwhelming forever. Over time, I realized that grief isn’t just about the pain. It’s also about love. It’s about the love that has remained even though you're gone. I've started to remember not just the sadness, but all the moments that made our time together so special.

I remember baking cookies with you in the kitchen when I was younger. I remember your favorite chair. I remember the stories you told me about your own childhood, about my mom when she was younger, about how the world had really changed over the years. It’s like these memories are all tucked away inside me, quietly waiting for me to revisit them.

Grief has never come with instructions, and there’s no right way to navigate it. For me, it's meant allowing myself to feel the pain when it hits and also allowing myself to laugh when the memories bring a smile to my face. I've learned that it’s okay to feel all of it. It's okay to cry, to laugh, to be angry, to be numb. Each emotion is part of the journey as well as the healing.

One of the hardest things for me has been learning to move forward without you, Grandma. I've found solace in the idea that you're not really gone. You live on in the stories, in the lessons you taught me, in the way you made me feel loved, no matter what. I keep you close in the way I live my life now, in the small acts of kindness, in the moments when I choose to be patient, in the times when I take a breath and appreciate what I have.

Healing doesn’t mean forgetting. It doesn’t mean moving on, as if your loss was some obstacle to overcome. For me, healing means making space for the grief and letting it guide me to a place where I can carry you with me.

While there are days when I still ache for you, I’ve come to realize that grief is simply a reflection of love. It’s my heart's way of holding on to you and how much you meant to me. So, I hold onto you in the best way I know how: By living fully, by loving fiercely, and by cherishing the memories of you that will never fade.