They say that the grieving process is a long one, and I'm inclined to believe it. After almost five months, I guess I thought I was over the worst of it. However, something happened to bring it all back to me.
I was talking to one of my good friends from New York, and he asked me how my life was post-Granny. The question was a valid one, but it really threw me for a loop. Here's the deal -- everyone who's known me longer than a minute knows that I love my grandmother and that she's a big part of my life. My friends have always asked about her, and I've had a million Granny stories over the years. While most of them have never laid eyes on Granny, they know about her through me. Since I'm new to California, no one really knows anything about me, and they don't ask questions like that.
Now that Granny's gone, I really don't know how to live. It's like I'm still here, but my very core has been ripped out. Everything I've ever known has changed. My foundation has been washed away, and I feel like I'm on sinking sands. Nothing is the same. I can't call Granny to find out what it means when there's a ring around the moon. I can't ask her what kind of tea will make cramps go away. I can't even give her a hug or comb her hair or hold her hand.
I'm afraid to go home because I don't know how it's gonna be when I finally go back to Texas with Granny not being there. Even though I always love seeing my mom, my brother, and my uncle, Granny was always there. The three hour drive we'd make every time I went home was for her. My rationale was that, yes, it's long and it takes up a lot of time, but there will be a day when she's not here and then you'll wish you'd made that drive more often.
I don't have to process those things in Los Angeles. This place has never seemed real to me, and now it's like my Shangri-La. Nothing touches me here. The majority of my real friends and family are in other places, and I can live, move, and breathe and not have to face any of the harsh realities of my life. However, when my homie posed that question, he pierced the bubble I've created for myself. He brought the reality of my situation back to the forefront of my existence. He forced me to face myself and my pain in a way that I haven't been doing up to now.
And so I grieve. Not for Granny, though. I know she's in a better place. I grieve for myself and my loss. I try to pull the pieces of my broken heart back together and bind them in a way that will make it strong enough to withstand simple questions from well-meaning friends.
I was talking to one of my good friends from New York, and he asked me how my life was post-Granny. The question was a valid one, but it really threw me for a loop. Here's the deal -- everyone who's known me longer than a minute knows that I love my grandmother and that she's a big part of my life. My friends have always asked about her, and I've had a million Granny stories over the years. While most of them have never laid eyes on Granny, they know about her through me. Since I'm new to California, no one really knows anything about me, and they don't ask questions like that.
Now that Granny's gone, I really don't know how to live. It's like I'm still here, but my very core has been ripped out. Everything I've ever known has changed. My foundation has been washed away, and I feel like I'm on sinking sands. Nothing is the same. I can't call Granny to find out what it means when there's a ring around the moon. I can't ask her what kind of tea will make cramps go away. I can't even give her a hug or comb her hair or hold her hand.
I'm afraid to go home because I don't know how it's gonna be when I finally go back to Texas with Granny not being there. Even though I always love seeing my mom, my brother, and my uncle, Granny was always there. The three hour drive we'd make every time I went home was for her. My rationale was that, yes, it's long and it takes up a lot of time, but there will be a day when she's not here and then you'll wish you'd made that drive more often.
I don't have to process those things in Los Angeles. This place has never seemed real to me, and now it's like my Shangri-La. Nothing touches me here. The majority of my real friends and family are in other places, and I can live, move, and breathe and not have to face any of the harsh realities of my life. However, when my homie posed that question, he pierced the bubble I've created for myself. He brought the reality of my situation back to the forefront of my existence. He forced me to face myself and my pain in a way that I haven't been doing up to now.
And so I grieve. Not for Granny, though. I know she's in a better place. I grieve for myself and my loss. I try to pull the pieces of my broken heart back together and bind them in a way that will make it strong enough to withstand simple questions from well-meaning friends.
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