Today is the one year anniversary of my grandmother’s passing.
I was alone all day, exploring the desert. I wondered: what am I supposed to be feeling? Am I feeling that? What is the right way to honor someone’s memory who gave you so much?
As I lay down to bed, I felt so unsatisfied with my day and my “grief”. I wanted to force myself to do it right.
But then, just as I found myself growing angry, a voice came to me and whispered: “Stop. Just write her what you feel.”
Below is what I wrote.
P.s. If you knew her and loved her too — it would mean a great deal to me if you’d be willing to share a memory or what she meant to you. If you didn’t know her, how did your grandmothers’ love shape who you are today?
~~~
Muppa,
It was one year ago today that we lost you.
Today, I feel your absence so acutely. Today, I feel your presence as if you were still alive.
Many times, people have asked me, “Do you believe you will see her when you die?” Perhaps. I hope. But if I’m honest, I do not know. I am no theologian. But I do know that here on earth matter cannot be destroyed; it merely changes shape. And so, this year I’ve looked for you everywhere I go. I searched for you in the flowering meadows. I listened for your voice in the songbird’s joyful tunes. I drove for days to find the Northern Lights, and wondered if in their dancing I might see your spirit pirouetting across the heavens.
But I did not need to travel so far to find you. When I see strangers like you saw me, I find I can see you too. When I listen to others like you listened to me, I find your wisdom. When I love others like you loved me, you fill my heart anew.
In looking for you, I’ve found so much I did not expect. In looking for you, I’ve learned so much I could not yet see while you were still alive. I am so grateful for what your love continues to open up for me. And yet, all the same, I wish I could have you in old form too.
Muppa, it’s been a year. What a year it’s been. Now, after it all, I know you’ll never leave me. But I miss you terribly all the same.
