I can’t write too much, following the days where we said goodbye to grandma. My entire self is somehow braided together by the moments — stretched into hours, days — spent with her and grandpa. How can everything still happen when they are gone? I suppose that many hours will pass before I figure that out. I have yet to let myself fully feel the loss, and so far have taken refuge in yoga and red wine. At some point I’m certain neither will suffice. Fortunately, Ray is only about me, especially right now.
But then there is the sudden news of Karin’s mom, Inga, this amazing woman of infinite energy and love and enthusiasm and now. Suddenly wrenched from this world and gone somewhere — nowhere, if we are to agree with Ellie’s four-year-old assessment of where Grandma Mitzi is now. But everywhere, I contend, even while I wonder. Can a person like Inga really be gone? How can the world still rotate on this axis?
My thoughts are with my friend tonight. Somehow, the painful departure of an elderly person who had been fighting for so long, somehow that departure, though agonizing, is not as breath-taking as the loss of a younger, more obviously vibrant personality. Neither is more or less heart-wrenching. But I wonder, which is the easier end? Neither, I suppose.
My grandma helped to shape who I have become; her death will help to shape who I continue to be. And I guess, because of that, my breath is stolen to think of how my friends feel tonight, as I would feel, rudderless, deflated, lost in a wilderness never imagined.
I wish to be someone stronger, for my family, for my friends. Alas. I am only me. And how amazingly self-absorbed. As if I could mitigate the grief; as if I could offer a Band-Aid for the gash that will never fully close. I am grateful for anyone who literally or, via the internet, symbolically holds my hand right now. And I guess what I’m saying is, as inadequate as this is, my hand is what I have to offer.
And if that’s not enough, well, how about a bottle of merlot?