notes about my grandma;s death

I could tell you that I know how it feels, but I don’t. Most pain is blunted by food or denial. I have never felt pain, not really, just the edges of it. Those edges are sharp and painful yet I’ve made myself believe that there’s not pain. My grandmother died on Christmas eve and it feels surprisingly real. That all the pain in my life is put in perspective. That maybe what I have been feeling isn’t worthy of being blunted. I should just feel it and move on because life is short. I’ll never get to talk to my grandmother again. Every moment I had with her is in the past and the reality of our mortality is smacking me in the face and saying this is all there is, make the most of it.

I think that I want to write and yet even though I have the ability my focus is always leaving me. After reading Push it occurred to me how much of a gift it is to be able to read and write and yet still it wasn’t enough to get me the computer and start writing. And now that I’ve been jolted back to a meaningful reality I’m afraid of losing it again. I know I have to finish school, but I should also be looking for work. I can’t do it on my own, clearly I need people’s help to make it work. I think my greatest weakness is my inability to ask for people’s help when I need it. That’s got to change.

Also when I die I want to have some people around me. Grandma had so many people who loved her. I can’t imagine the amount of love she had for so many. And while they may only dimly reflect it back to her it’s still bright. She leaves a mark on this world that I can only faintly imagine. It’s not that I wish to be like her because in many ways I am, but I want to be the better aspects she has shown me. When I had her picture up in my room I’d look at her and try to imagine who she was. Mostly I know that she’s a construction of my mind.