You had been my best friend all this time. From when I was a baby to a lady. Life got messy at times. My boat wasn’t always steady. So, when the storms had too much control over me, you came to protect me and turn your arms into a safe harbor.
When everything seemed dark and I couldn’t find a way home, you stood there with a flashlight. But you were more than that. You were a lighthouse that kept my sight straightaway.
When loneliness made me fearful. You never had to say a word because I knew. I knew you’d keep me safe. I knew you’d listen when nobody else would. You’d agree when everyone else would disagree. I noticed everything about you and your effort to fill the hole in my heart although we both knew I was beyond saving.
I always manage to say, “Home is where my grandma was.” Because that’s all I can remember. That’s what’s comforting and calming. I will keep these words in the back of my mind even when I’m a thousand miles away from home. Even when you and I are separated by a complex dimension between earth and heaven.
I’m sorry for being such a disgraceful to honor you in a grief-induced essay. But here I am, writing tons of things that I love about you. Because you deserve so much more than tears of regret. You deserve an everyday gratitude. You deserve to be kept in a loving remembrance. You deserve to know that your stories were my favorite too.
It had been my privilege to have spent my life with you, no matter how temporary it was. You’d taught me heartbreaks, the pain of divorce, the pain of being uncared for, the pain of forgiving the person who once broke our hearts only then to lose them to death. Time had made your old eyes softer but your heart stronger. I’m blessed to have (had) such an amazing grandma like you.
I would like to thank you for that one time you saved me. You took care of me. You helped me get through teenage years. It was rough for both of us. I never get a chance to say this, but I never took you for granted. Not even once. I owed God a big check. And that big check was you. Now it’s breakeven since He took you back from me.
It’s been three weeks. Three weeks since I lost you. Three weeks of silent grief. Three weeks since I heard your last words for me. I’m still in a terrible state of mind. It’s hard to pretend like I’m okay, or like I had never held your cold skin. I think my grieving is still too loud, as loud as the silence in your room.
But grandma, I’m glad we were ever in this life together. I love you.