My paternal grandmother and I never shared a close bond. Circumstances and distance largely contributed to this; she had a much more engaged relationship with my cousins. As a child, this was difficult to accept. She often misspelled my name on birthday cards, and when I once opened up to her about my heartbreak, her response was to take a long drag from her cigarette and, maintaining her distance, ask, “What did you do to deserve it?”
Unlike the grandparents depicted in heartwarming films, she didn’t celebrate my achievements. She attended my wedding but seemed emotionally absent. In hindsight, her forgetting to wear her dentures is amusing, but during that moment, I felt the sharp sting of her indifference, coupled with the discomfort of my lace veil.
I can’t pinpoint why these moments have lingered in my mind, yet they have.
When she fell ill last week and my father informed us that it was time to say goodbye, I found myself trying to remember happier times. These recollections didn’t involve her and me, but rather the joy she brought to others. My dad reminisced about her never missing one of his football games, and family friends shared fond memories of her delicious pies and ravioli soup. She was straightforward, a no-nonsense woman, and I resonate with that.
Last night, I dreamt of beginnings and endings. In this dream, my grandmother visited my home—a place she had never set foot in before—and enveloped me in her arms, a sensation I had never experienced. We stood in the kitchen, my back to the window above the sink. Although I couldn’t see outside, I felt the warmth of the morning sun streaming in, illuminating the floor and brightening an otherwise dim room. The embrace, awkward yet sincere, was accompanied by her smile and distracted gazes out the window. She waved silently; words were unnecessary. I understood that my grandfather was on the other side, waiting for her with the familiar sound of his Chrysler’s horn.
This morning, I was ready to text my father about the dream when his message arrived: “Grandma passed. Left us around 1 a.m.”
I can’t explain why she chose to visit me. Perhaps it was because I write and share stories, or maybe she wanted me to convey to my family that she has finally found peace. It could be that, with the profound finality of her passing, she wished for us to share in her tranquility. Perhaps it was her way of reaching out amidst my struggles with faith. After all those years of misspelling my name as “Stefanie,” she might have wanted me to hold on to something beautiful.
It’s all good, Grandma. Everything is fine.
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In summary, the experience of losing a loved one can evoke a myriad of emotions, often bringing forth memories that may not be traditionally cherished. Despite my complicated relationship with my grandmother, her passing led me to reflect on the peace and happiness she has finally attained.
Keyphrase: grandmother passing
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