It started on Thanksgiving. I was in the shower and out of nowhere I thought of my Grandma and the tears started to fall. So many that after a few minutes I couldn’t tell what was falling more, my tears or the water from the shower head. I knew it would happen for days leading up to Thanksgiving. I had my Grandmother on my mind for obvious reasons, this being the first major holiday without her, and for my own personal reasons. Last year on Thanksgiving I surprised her with a quick visit at her house on my way into Brooklyn. And as I stood crying in the shower, I could still see her sitting on her couch looking beautiful as ever. I could still see the look on her face when she saw me and my daughter, the warm smile she gave us, the love in her eyes. I only stayed for a few minutes but I knew then that it meant so much to her that I would take the time to go see her. And a year later I hope she knows how much it meant to me too and how tight I hold onto that memory and all of the others with her in them.

This past April, a month after she passed, I had to go to Staten Island for my nephew’s birthday and that was the first time it really hit me that I wouldn’t see her again. Whenever I went to Staten Island to see my best friend, I would stop by my Grandma’s house first to see her for however long I could. It became a thing I would do, especially after my Grandfather died, because I wanted to see her as much as I could. And the first time I couldn’t it hurt more than I thought it would. It’s the little things that I find hit you with the hardest punch. My birthday was three weeks after she died and I cried when I realized there would be no card in the mail from her. And I remember being so mad at myself for not realizing that I should have saved the last one she sent me knowing it probably would have been the last one. But I guess I didn’t want to think like that. I wanted to believe I would have one more card. One more phone call. One more ‘love ya, babe’ and kiss on the cheek. I do remember the last time I got both of those things and I hope I will always remember those days.

A few weeks ago, I sat down to get my Christmas cards done to be sent out. So I got on the computer to do my labels for the envelopes, changed addresses of those that moved, and as I went through the list there was my Grandma’s name, and my hand froze on the mouse and I just sat there for a minute staring at her name, not wanting to delete it from my list. And I was torn on what I should do. As much as I didn’t want to delete her name because that didn’t feel right to me, my other option was to print it out but not put it on a card, and if I did that I would have to throw it out and that somehow seemed worse to me. And I know that this will probably sound so ridiculous to some people but these are the battles that go on in my head. So, I deleted her name and I cried, because these days whenever I think of her I cry. And I know it won’t always be like this but right now it is and I’m ok with that. I didn’t think the holidays would be this hard, but they were, and it sucked sometimes.

December was a shitty month for my little family and I can admit that I wasn’t the best mother and wife that I should be. I felt angry all of the time. I was frustrated at so many things and nothing at the same time. My husband went to twelve-hour work days, six days a week. The holidays were approaching and I felt the weight of having so much to do and all of that weight was on my shoulders because I felt like I was the only one who needed to get everything done. My daughter got an ear and sinus infection, I felt like I was a single parent because my husband got home late every night and was so exhausted, he barely had any energy for anything and the little he did have went to our daughter. I got mad at stupid, little things that I shouldn’t have and yelled a lot more than was necessary. And I truly didn’t know what was wrong with me or why I was acting the way that I was. And then the day came where it all erupted and came to the surface.

I was texting my husband and I typed the word Grandma and the flood gates opened up and I started to cry. And not just a regular cry, I sobbed uncontrollably. The cry where your whole-body shakes, where you’re bent over because the weight of your sorrow is too much for you to hold up any longer. And the tears just kept coming and I let them fall while I screamed out the pain because I couldn’t hold it in any longer. This anger, this sadness had been building for weeks and I kept pushing it down hoping it would go away on its own, knowing it wouldn’t. I was delaying the inevitable because I didn’t want to acknowledge my feelings. I didn’t want to admit how angry I was that my Grandma was gone. Not just sadness, actual anger. Angry at God, angry at the world, angry at people who don’t value what they have in their life, angry at myself.

My Grandmother was full of life. Well into her eighties she was living, not just surviving, not just waiting around to die. She had so many friends, she had her club she would go to every day until she physically couldn’t anymore. She went to banquets, she played games, she did talent shows where she sang with the most beautiful voice. She went on trips, she got her hair and nails done, she was still cooking and baking until she just didn’t have the strength anymore. She did as much as she could for as long as she could, and then she was taken. She still had so much life to live, so many things to do, so many memories to make, so much love to still give. If she were here and physically able to, she would still be dancing and singing. And I’m angry that she’s not.

And I’m angry because I see so many people who live like they’re just waiting to die. Who complain about every little ache and pain, who always see the dark side when there is so much light shining in their lives. My Grandmother saw the light in everything, and for most of us, she was the light. And I can admit that I’m mad at myself because I don’t always live the right way, the way my Grandma lived. And by doing that I feel like I’m disrespecting her and her legacy. And I don’t want to do that anymore. I want to live and laugh and love like she did.

On the day I let it all out I knew I had two apologies to make. When my daughter came home from school, I looked in her eyes, with tears in my own, and I said I was sorry for how I had been acting. I apologized for being a lousy mother because I was. And her little face looked back at mine, smiled, and she said ‘it’s ok Mommy’ and she hugged me and forgave me just like that. I am not the best parent in the world, far from it, but the one thing I do right is apologize when I’m wrong. My daughter needs to know that I make mistakes and I have to take responsibility for them, and that I respect her and love her enough to apologize to her when I’m wrong.

When my husband came home, I looked in his eyes, cried some more and said ‘I’m so sorry’ and right after that, without even thinking, the words out of my mouth were ‘I miss my Grandma’. And I do miss her terribly. And I don’t think I realized that I would feel this sadness so deeply. And that some days, it just comes out of nowhere.

Today is December 30^th and I knew I needed to write this down today or tomorrow because I didn’t want to bring it with me into the new year. Writing is my therapy. Now that it’s down on paper I can let it go and not look back, not dwell on it because that’s what I do until I get the words out. I already know that next year is going to have some special moments for my big family. One of my cousins is getting married, two more are having babies. Our family is still growing. And I know my Grandma will be there for every moment, every laugh, every happy tear, every dance and every song. She is in the things that we do, the words that we say, the love in our hearts. I want to live the rest of my life in her honor, and if I can do that then I know I’ll be living the best life possible.