A year ago.

A year ago today I was still reeling from the fact that I had lost my beloved Grandmother,my Meme, my Lizzie,  less than 2 weeks before. I had just seen her two weeks before. My sister and I went and took her out to brunch. Her health hadn’t been great, she had been diagnosed with RA, had COPD, and had good days and bad days. She was still sharp as a tack. She was in her early 80s, but had never “acted her age” until the past few years.

But I digress. To me, she was my soulmate. My confident. My biggest supporter. The one person I could tell everything and anything to. She was my cheerleader. She was my Meme. My parents and I never got along great during my childhood. There were good days and bad days. There were tumultuous days. I could never talk to them much. Meme was my person. She was always my person. I would drive “down the shore” and escape to her house on the lagoon, with water in the front and woods in the back. After I got married and had kids, I didn’t go down as much as I should have. It kills me that my boys will never have the relationship with her that I did.

When she died, my world stopped. I was at work. My mother drove to my office and told me in my boss’s office. “Meme died” All I remember is everything went still. I couldn’t breathe. I choked the word “NO” and the next few weeks were a blur. The kids went back to school. I went back to work. We had a memorial service, she had been cremated. I remember being the last one in the memorial room, staring at the wooden box that now contained my grandmother, thinking to myself that this couldn’t be REAL. This couldn’t be life. This is all fake. I stood there until my husband came and led me away. I took two white roses from one of the flower wreaths. I still have them hanging in my kitchen. I have an  photo of her and myself framed on my nightstand in an antique frame she gave me. I’m a baby. She’s holding me, my eyes are still blue. We’re both smiling. I have a picture of her hanging over my desk in my office. She’s standing next to a pink hibiscus. She loved pink, and she loved flowers.

It’s been over a year. My birthday was a month ago. There was no voicemail with an off-key rendition of “Happy Birthday” to wake up to. I still have the last Birthday message she left me saved. I can’t listen to it.  I still feel like life without her isn’t real. I haven’t baked since she passed. Maybe once. I barely cook anymore, that was her thing. She was supposed to teach me. She wasn’t supposed to go.

Do I need to talk to someone? Probably. I keep telling myself keep busy. It’s not hard, I have a full time job, and two young (12 and 9) sons. I’m always at school volunteering, or on a soccer field. I keep telling myself i’ve grieved enough. To get on with life.

It’s just…how do I do that ?