When my English grandmother passed away two days before my birthday. The second one will be on Monday, if I’m feeling okay (my American grandmother passed away on Monday, at around 11pm my time).
I didn’t know her as well as my English grandma – partially because of her upsetting my mother so much, her being so ill, and us being so far away from the West coast – but I should be there for my father, and my aunt. The last time we saw her was in 2006, when my aunt brought her to Ohio to visit everyone. My aunt took good care of her for years – mostly on her own. She helped her and kept her alive, when doctors said they could do nothing more for her (she used herbs and whatever else she could think of – and they worked). She had an interesting experience on the evening her mother died – one that I see as a little more confirmation that we go somewhere after we die. (I won’t go into it, because I’m not in the mood for dealing with naysayers right now – it was a ‘wow’ experience for my aunt, and not one born out of grief.)
It hasn’t really hit me yet, that she’s gone. It was the same for my English grandmother: it didn’t hit me until I was in the church, saw the coffin up at the front, and realized that she was never going to be at home again. That’s when the tears started to really flow. I didn’t know either one of my grandfathers – one died before my parents were married, and the other died when I lived in England (he was me once, as we passed through Ohio, when I was six months old). I still want to visit his grave as well.
(This entry was supposed to go under this goal… not the other one.) 2 years ago