Grandma

It’s times like these that I wonder what I’m doing showcasing my stupid life with pictures. I just feel like it’s all kind of pointless. Football games, concerts, parties... they all get old. After a while I just ask myself if I think I’m living in some fantasy world. I must probably think that.

Well the reality is my grandmother passed away in her sleep early this morning.

I never get too personal on my blogs, but for some reason I just feel compelled to write what’s on my mind. I’ve been in my room for most of the morning, trying to comprehend everything. It seems to me that the best way to think right now is by writing, because talking about it definitely hasn’t helped.

I feel like I don’t know how to talk to people about this. I don’t want anyone feeling obligated to make me feel better, or anyone feeling awkward that they can’t. I’m also sick of people saying, "Oh, I’m sorry to hear that." I’m sick of people asking me stupid questions, like how old was she, how did she die, which side of the family was she.

It’s not that there’s anything wrong with that; it just makes me feel like her passing away is a routine thing that grandmothers do. But she was not routine. She was one of the most important people in the world to me, and what she personally represented to me can never be regained. So it quite honestly kind of shocks me when people don’t get it.

But obviously, no one knows the story.

My grandma suffered a debilitating brain aneurysm in 1983, when I was two years old, possibly due to stress-related hypertension. She was beautiful, intelligent, extremely kind and giving, and absolutely the strongest woman you would ever know. She was never the same after the aneurysm, losing most of her motor movements and long-term memory capability because half of her brain was dead.

I know all families have their sad stories, but I am just so convinced that she was more special than most people. Working multiple jobs to raise seven children in a strange, new country requires an extraordinary person.

My last memory of her was back in that old house in Ames, Iowa. It’s still vivid in my mind. I was crawling around on the floor next to the living room couch and she had just gotten home from grocery shopping. I remember seeing the two big bags of groceries in her arms and car keys dangling from her hand. Behind her was the front door, and it was so sunny outside that I shielded my eyes. She bent over slightly and smiled and yelled out my name, and my heart just leapt. I believe I recognized her as my mother first before my real one.

Grandma had a really pretty smile, and her face looked so young and kind. My heart was pounding in my chest as she walked towards me because I was so excited to see her. Then she picked me up in her arms and remarked that I was getting too heavy. I remember feeling a wave of pride when she said that. The last thing I remember her saying was that soon I’d be too heavy for her to lift up. I then hear a bunch of voices around me that probably belong to my aunts and uncle, and then the memory kind of fades away.

I learned a lot about who Grandma was throughout the years, particularly about her inner strength, but no one had to tell me about her enormous capacity for love. I knew about that from when I was a little kid. Some things about people, you can just feel.

Grandma’s meant so much to me and I believe that she’s affected my life in a huge way. She’s the prototype of what exceptionally kind and beautiful people should be, and I could only hope to have half the soul she does.

Well, that’s all I feel like writing for now. I’m tired. I dug around my computer and found this picture of me, my cousin Chris, and Grandma:

I love you very, very much.