Six years ago today, one of the most important women in my life (and the lives of many others) left the world way too soon. And as cheesy and cliche as it sounds, I haven't been the same since.
One of the cruelest things about life is how our minds eventually betray us by forgetting things that we desperately want to remember. If I close my eyes, I can see my Grandma, happy and healthy, humming to herself while she cooked or sitting on the porch of my grandparents house with a book, as clear as if I saw her yesterday. But then it starts to get fuzzy. I already can't remember what she sounded like or smelled like, or what it felt like to be in the same room with her. I never wanted to lose those tactile memories, but I somehow did anyway, which feels cruel and unfair.
Today's post is actually a repost of a blog that I wrote last summer. I had never really talked about my Granny's passing much, but when I sat down to write this blog, it all came rushing out of me. I wrote it faster than anything else I've ever written and sobbed the whole way through (terrifying my husband and kids). When I finished, I felt like a huge weight had been lifted off of me. It didn't bring her back (obviously) but it was surprisingly cathartic and reminded me that the world keeps spinning, even in the shadows of our greatest personal tragedies. Because of this blog, I was finally able to focus on the good memories and start to move on, though I will always love my Granny and I look forward to the day that we meet again.
And I like to think that that's exactly what she would want.
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