I sleep.

I sleep. Not just at night. Not just 8 hours. Not a short nap. No, I sleep as much as I possibly can. I sleep to forget what is gone. I sleep to stop seeing you drift away from me day by day for two months. I sleep to forget your last breath. Your face no longer full of life, but of death. Frozen forever. While awake, I picture your beautiful smile, I hear your laugh, I feel your hugs. But then, it’s too much to bear, so I seek out my bed and I sink into it and hope to escape. It doesn’t work most times though because I still see you in my dreams. I run to you, only to realize you are someone else or only to lose you all over again. My mind cannot accept it. You were with me 46 years. You gave me the love and compassion that my mother couldn’t give me. You made me feel safe and cared for when no one else gave me that. You were my place of retreat when life got too hard. Your home once that of tears and laughter. Healing and celebrations. I see you in me. You are a part of me. You gave me high blood pressure, pre-diabetes, a heart condition, medication sensitivities and stomach issues, but you also gave me a determination to be a business-woman, strength during hard times, my love for learning and writing, dainty, small hands and a silly sense of humor. We are connected by these things even though you are no longer here for me see and hear them in person. It’s been 3 weeks since you left me. The time is ticking so slowly. My days used to fly by. Now, the days drag on and on. I asked you to send me signs that you are still here in spirit and you’ve done so much of that over the last 3 weeks. I pray you never stop. I tried to attend a counseling session this morning, but the counselor left before I arrived. She was late and then left after 30 seconds of logging on and then cancelled the appointment. You and I would have had a good time discussing the ridiculousness of that. I didn’t reschedule though. Why should I? She can’t remove the grief. She can’t make this better. Yes, time will dull the sharp edges of this pain, but time won’t erase my heartache. I will live with this grief for the rest of my life. Long ago, my mind would drift to thinking about how I truly would lose you one day, because you were older and your ailments were becoming harder. I would immediately cry upon the thought of you not being here anymore and I would push the thought aside so fast and far away. The idea hurt too much. And then it came and creeped up and day by day, I lost you a little bit more. I stayed and watched you fade. I cried, I told you how much I loved you each and every day of those two months. The hospital became my home. I fought for you, because you couldn’t. I did everything I promised you I would. I hope you knew it. I loved you fiercely while you were here and I still love you the same, but now that fierce love has turned into fierce grief which can only be slightly relieved by sleep.

Grandma, I hope to see you in my dreams for the rest of my life. I love you.