My professor has been telling my class to write thoughts about things that happened in our life and share it with our writing class. The only requirements are that we have to have a quote that goes with the experience and it has to be film-able. Since the anniversary of my grandmother’s death is coming in a week, I thought I would write about her. Last semester, I took a poetry class where we had to memorize poems and recite it to the class; I picked Elizabeth Bishop’s poem “One Art” and I really felt a connection with it. Although, she was mostly talking about a lost love in her life and how she was fine without them, I thought it fit well with this. ANYWAYS, here is my writing for the assignment.
“The art of losing’s not too hard to master though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster”
I remember the day so vividly. It was a Sunday morning: the birds were chirping their usual melody outside, the sun was peeking through my blinds and starting to warm the earth, and my heart was beating its usual lively rhythm. All signs pointed to a perfect day, yet something told me that it wasn’t going to be.
Maybe the birds sang one note off key, maybe the sun didn’t warm a certain part of the world, or maybe my heart skipped a beat. Maybe, maybe…
Everything lead up to this day. The moment I shared a poem I had written about you. The time where you took a 7 year old me to youth camp and you embarrassed me. The day that you got the news from the doctors. Everything prepared me for this.
Maybe that was the reason I didn’t cry.
I went to church like usual, sat in the same row, listened to the same songs, knowing that I should feel completely torn apart. But for some reason I didn’t. It’s not that I didn’t love you because I completely did, but I couldn’t get myself to cry.
Maybe I loved you too much and knew you were going to a better place. Maybe I was so in shock to even fathom that you were actually gone.
My parents were not with us that Sunday, they were with you. The first Sunday we were not together as a family. They were sulking at your deathbed trying to figure out why a disease so bad could hurt someone so good. My sister, brother, and I were at church singing, welcoming you to the place you were going. Sometimes I feel like we were closer to you at that moment than they were. They were near your physical body, but we were near the body with no pain.
Maybe you were with all of us at that moment.
I wondered how grandpa would feel, being in a house all by himself. I wondered how mom would feel, knowing that her mother was gone. I wondered how I would feel, knowing that I would never see you sitting in that velvet pink recliner again. You, watching random television shows with us, laughing with a sprinkled gold tooth here and there (you always thought it made you look stylish), and sharing whatever happened to you that week.
Maybe you thought of these things before you passed. Maybe you thought of these things when you were alive.
I look back and realize that though it was hard for all of us to go through your death; we all learned something from it. We cherish the memories we have with everyone, we never take them for granted, and we always know that everything happens for a reason.
Maybe cancer destroyed your body, maybe your spirit stayed with us, and maybe your death wasn’t a disaster after all.