Nana

 

      Death is strange. Someone who made a huge impact on your life, is suddenly gone, and the world keeps on moving. You wish it would stop until you feel okay enough to live life again, but time stops for no one. On Monday morning, the bus will come to pick up kids for school, people will get up and go to work, while I’m grieving you.

                I can almost pretend it didn’t happen, and that’ll I’ll see you again. Not think too much about it so I can go about my day without breaking down thinking about what life will be like without you. I can almost pretend you’re still alive, and the next time I come home to visit I’d see you, and tell you about my life.

                But you won’t be there. I won’t see your beautiful blue eyes light up when I walk into a room. I won’t hear you say that you’re so proud of me, that you love me, and are so thankful for me. I won’t get a card from you anymore for different occasions like my birthday or Christmas. I won’t get to watch TV, complain about the news with you, or make you laugh anymore. I will cherish the time we did spend together. I am especially thankful for 2020. How it made me move back home, and how because of that I got to see you weekly or multiple times a week. To keep you company, to warm up dinner for you, to wash your dishes, or get your mail. I loved doing absolutely anything I could for you. I would spend time with you, and I remember whenever I had to go it was sad, because the time we did spend together was never enough.

     Thank you for always loving me so much. I’ll remember sleepovers at your trailer and house in Campbellsport. How you were there when my anxiety was all consuming as a child, and didn’t treat me any differently. How when I was being bullied for my extremely curly hair, you always saw one of the most beautiful girls you had ever known. I wish we had more time together, and would have visited more. But that’s what death does. You always wish you had spent more time together. I am thankful for the 25 years we did have together.

                It’s hard to know what to say when the people who have no idea what just happened ask you how you are. Do I lie and say good, or explain why I’m just okay or less than okay. I don’t want to have to explain, and make them feel sorry for me. I honestly feel like I should feel worse than I do, but I know it will fully hit me in waves. That it’ll be hard, and then a wave of grief will hit me again in a few months.

                We selfishly hold onto things that God wants us to give up, usually promising better things. It’s that way with you. I wanted to hold onto you, but knew that letting go would mean eternity in God’s presence. A place you’d no longer feel pain, but pure contentment, because you were finally where you were created to be. Only in the full presence of God can we be fully happy. Finally you get to be with your creator, after living a really rough life. Most people would have been bitter, but you were kind-hearted. I’m thankful that the last time I was with you, you responded to my voice and opened your eyes.

                Very recently I used to want Jesus to wait to come back to the Earth, as is promised in the Bible. A lot of people think that time is very soon, but who knows. The thought of it made me anxious, because for some contradictory reason I felt like I wanted to hit more milestones in life before he would come back. Falling in love, getting married, having a family etc. This is contradictory because our soul was made to be with God, and the things of this world weren’t meant for us as Christians. I don’t have to be as anxious anymore, because the sooner that he comes the sooner my soul will be fulfilled, and the sooner I’ll get to see you again. My last living grandparent.