I will someday...

My grandmother who I was very close to passed about 3 years ago and before her death she always wanted me to use my gift of writing and become published.  I always thought I had "tomorrow" so when she'd ask me to write something for her,  I'd put it off and tell her "someday" I would.  Never imagining that "someday" I'd be writing her eulogy.  My final gift to my grandmother were the words that were used to sum up her life here on earth and I realized at that moment, I could never begin to put what she meant to me in mere words.  For the first time in my life words failed me.  My heart took over and what came pouring out was my soul.

Nothing could have prepared me for the day of her passing.  How I always thought I would react took a back seat to the reality of what I needed to do in that moment.  Death was nothing like I thought it would be.  I always assumed I would throw myself on top of her body and not let go.  It's what I secretly wanted to do but couldn't allow myself the luxury of. 

Everone and everything seemed to be falling apart around me and instead of reacting the way I always thought I would, I became strangely someone else for this entire ordeal.  I knew exactly what I needed to do.  It was like being in a drama series of which I was a bit player.  My needs became so unimportant and doing what was best for my grandmother became up and foremost in my mind.  I knew for once in my life I couldn't be the selfish one.  She had always been the giver in our relationship and I had always been the taker.  Our roles switched so suddenly I wasn't even aware at the time that I had also crossed over and reached a new level.

My aunts were bitterly fighting over every little thing.  Those that hadn't been around for quite sometime were suddenly fighting to be up front and center.  It wasn't about her for them, it was about themselves.  It was also very scarey to watch and be a part of.  I needed, wanted them to be strong to be reasonable to be mature.  But they were the ones that were wigging out, not me.

My younger brother also fell a part at her death bed.  He couldn't cope, and he phoned my mother and I from the parking lot of a close by mall hysterical and crying like a little child.  "I'm not going to let her go he insisted".  It was obvious to us both that he'd been drinking and there was no consoling him as he poured out his grief to us in the parking lot.  We were surrounded by hundreds of people that had no idea what extreme grief we were going through.  I'm sure we appeared to observers to be completely out of it.  Here was my 30 year old brother reverting  back to the age of 3.  He had made up his mind that she was not going to die because by God, he wasn't going to let her and that was that.

I remember thinking at the time how much I wanted to join him and scream out my anger and resentment at having to let her go.  But I couldn't, I had to be the strong one.  I couldn't express my intense grief and pain at that moment because I had to pull him together.  I had to do this for my grandmother because it's what she would have wanted and expected of me.  He was her baby.  The second to the youngest of my mother's children and we'd always been the closest grandchildren to her because she'd helped to raise us and she'd always treated us as her own. 

We were not only losing our grandmother but a surrogate mother of sorts.  I'd given her every Mother's day a card addressed to "My other Mother".  I remember that night going to bed and feeling so tired.  My body felt so heavy and I knew then and there my heart and soul were breaking and I couldn't do anything to stop them.  I couldn't hold on to her and I had to let her go because it was what was best for her..., not me.

The next night I returned to her bedside and felt the tears well up in my throat.  I'd always been the sensitive one.  The one that cried at the drop of a dime and she'd always told me to "save my tears because one day I might need them".  She was right about that as she was most things.  I needed my tears that day and other days after more than I ever imagined that I would.  The only thing she was wrong about was that I had plenty of tears to go around for everyone and then some.

I remember as I looked at her and she slept, knowing she was in great pain that I had to let her go.  Great calm and peace came over me and I knew that I couldn't let her leave this world seeing me fall apart and worrying into the next life that I couldn't make it without her.  I had one last chance to let her know that it was okay to leave us, to leave me and I would be ok.  I remember that night as clear as any in my life and feeling as I talked to her that she knew what I was saying even as I was often unable to say anything.  I remember feeling this lump in the base of my throat that made me almost incapable of speaking.  I wondered, did she know how hard that moment for me was?  Did she know how I was dieing inside while trying to pretend that it was okay?  I knew that she knew me better than anyone and I also knew that she wasn't being fooled, but she let me do what was best for both of us that night and we both knew that we were letting go the best way that we could.

I remember leaving her room that night with a very heavy heart.  My whole body was tired, so tired.  I went to sleep that night with tears on my face and pillow knowing that any moment could pass and she'd be gone from my life forever.  I never truly understood the word grieving before that night, but I will never forget how intense it felt.  When you love someone so much and you know you are losing them to all eternity and you can't stop it, the feeling is unlike anything you can ever describe.  It is both beautiful and horrible, pleasure and pain. 

I was lucky in the fact that my grandmother was there the day I was born.  I had my grandmother in my life until I was 42 years old.  My children got to know her and love her as I did, and she blessed our lives tremendously.  I took pleasure in being able to be there the day she departed this world as she took pleasure in being there the day I drifted in . 

The easiest piece I ever wrote was her eulogy because I did not think when I wrote it.  The words just flowed from my soul like a river.  I couldn't stop the flow of words that night if I'd tried.  I could not read the eulogy no matter how much I may have wanted to.  The minister from Hospice read over my piece and looked at me and told me he'd do his best to read my offering, but honestly told me with all his experience he didn't know if he himself could read it without show of emotion.  I knew then that I had accomplished what I needed to.  I needed for someone to know what I felt, what she meant to me and I couldn't verbally say.  I could tell by the look in his eyes that he knew and then finally, I was able to let go.  I had finally written something for my grandmother that would make her proud.

There was not one dry eye in the church as the eulogy was read.  I had to find a way to embrace everyone there that had meant something to my grandmother.  To reach out and touch each one present on the shoulder and let them know how much each of them had meant to her so I chose to write about how each of her children was like her and pointed out the qualities in each of them that she had loved, admired or shared with them.  Even those that were struggling to not be like her had to admit that I nailed down the one quality in each of them that had joined them forever. 

This was my one piece for her.  The piece that for years she'd begged me to write.  You see, she always felt I had a gift for writing.  I always shrugged it off because I didn't see what she did.  I've always loved to write, but I've always thought it was like those that love to sing.  Some can and some like to, but it doesn't mean that everyone should.  There is still not a day that goes by that I don't shed tears for my grandmother and regret not spending more time with her, always assuming I'd have "time".  Most of all, I regret that the piece I finally wrote for her was her eulogy, and she never got to hear it....