It just occured to me that this is the first year that I actually didn't think of June 28th as being any different from any other day. You see, on June 28, 2002, I lost my Grandma to luekemia. Every year since then, June 28th has hung heavy on my mind. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think of her and some nights I dream of her.
It's been 7 years and there are still times I find myself in a fix and she is the first person who pops into my mind. Grandma always knew how to make it better. She was my haven and along with GOD, my saving grace. In honor of her memory, I found something I had written last year about her passing...
The low growl of thunder pierces my soul and reminds me of that day and the days prior to her passing. The moment that I got the phone call and heard the word, "cancer", the mass delirium of my family being shattered hit instantly. Tomorrow, June 28th, will mark the 6th year anniversary of my Grandmother's passing.
I always have wondered if I was the type of person that would immediately break upon receiving tragic news, simply because I think I am tough and resilient. I found out that day, that I'm not as tough as I think.
I remember the pain in my aunt's voice, the feeling of imaginary ropes pulling tightly around my chest, causing me to catch my breath. The nausea that swept over me was immediate. The swimming of my thoughts as my brain tried to force the words away from my ears. I was in such denial that I couldn't bring myself to go to the hospital immediately. My mind told me that if I didn't see it, it wasn't real.
In my mind, she would still be sitting in her chair, working a crossword, with a thin trail of smoke coming from the cigarette that notoriously hung from her mouth. I am ashamed that I didn't immediately drop everything and run to her side. I live with that regret everyday. It makes me doubt myself and I wonder if she thought I loved her less. It rips every bit of my soul to shreds just thinking about it.
Then I flashback to her asking me to cut her hair off because it was going to fall out from the chemo. I don't remember actually cutting it off. I do remember how upset she was when she saw how short it was. I think it hit her hard at that moment- looking at herself with hair as short as a boy. The last thing I remember was once she fell asleep, reaching down into the trash can and pulling a handful of her hair out, placing it in my pocket. It sits in a bag in my top dresser drawer to this day.
The days that followed were long ones. When the doctors told us the chemo didn't do much, she decided to go home and die with her family around her. I remember many sleepless nights and long days. My cousin and I being curled up next to her like little squirrels, fearful to leave her side. Taking in every last second that we could.
Until my Grandmother died, I always questioned the true exsitence of God and Angels. I no longer question it. I was there when she reached up, swatted at the air and said, "Shoo! Shoo!" and us asking her what she was shooing. She simply said, "they are tapping at the window and I'm not ready."
"Who", we ask.
I can't remember her exact words at this point, but she was telling us that it was the angels tapping at her window. That they had come for her; it was time to go, but she quite simply wasn't ready to go!
There is a song that she asked to hear and to this day, rarely do I hear it, but every once in awhile, it comes on the radio. I cry and smile at the same time. It hurts to remember, but I know it is her and God's way of letting me know they are walking with me.
It rained the day she passed away. Some say rain is a good sign. It washes and cleanses the dry, dusty earth so that it can bring forth the beauty that lies beneath. I believe that tears are our soul's rain. Just like the rain, they come when our souls are dry and parched. They flood over us, washing away the sorrow and bringing forth sunshine.
