A few weeks ago I did something I never thought I’d do. I had the words “Love You” tattooed on my left wrist. I also, quite suddenly, faced something I never wanted to face: Both of my grandmothers died within 18 days of one another.
We have been launched into something new against our will. I’m 36 years old and for the first time in my life I have no grandparents. My parents, for the first time in their lives, have no parents of their own still on Earth.
Right now it feels like these losses are defining my life. Getting myself and two tiny humans ready for multiple funerals, memorial services, and burials has taken it all out of me. In work meetings my mind drifts to the call I answered from my mom telling me my grandma was gone; and then to the call 18 days later from my dad telling me my grandma was gone.
I am realizing that it’s OK to not totally be OK. No one is expecting me to be. I don’t really know what I should be doing. So, what I am doing is: Turning to my friends, trying to prioritize getting good sleep, praying, running regularly, reading a lot, watching my dear daughters play oblivious to what a real and major loss really means, and clinging to my amazingly strong and calm husband.
The tattoo is the handwriting of my Grandma Mary taken directly off the card she gave me on my wedding day, but also how she signed everything to me in the 36 wonderful years I had her in my life. She was A HOUSE WITH CHARACTER’S most loyal reader and commenter. So that’s why I’m back on here, posting about her, posting about pain, loss, and, at least a little bit of hope.
These losses don’t define me, but the love my grandmothers shared with me and my family does. That is a legacy of love that will live on in me, my daughters, and those who come after us. The loss doesn’t define us. The memories do.