I’m so angry right now. At life, at myself, at fucking circumstance. I want to write a beautiful tribute to my grandmother, who I only knew to be kind and supportive. Instead silent screams rise up in my throat. I yearn to break things, to hit someone.
I’ve been waiting awhile for this day. Not like a morbid vulture. But witnessing my grandmother slip bit by bit from the person I knew her as was an exercise in pain. Last week she was shaking so bad, she could no longer get food to her mouth. She celebrated her 89th birthday with a party, and the next day, did not remember attending the celebration. She could no longer stand or walk on her own. Of course, I did not wish death upon her, but I thought when she passed I would feel relief. Death would bring comfort that her disintegration was over.
But Chris’s passing is too fresh. The dichotomy between her long life and his short one infuriates me to question the powers that be. Why? I feel robbed of the peace I was supposed to feel with her passing. I want to feel for her, only her, but Chris’s memory keeps creeping in.
My grandmother lived nearly nine decades. She passed with two of her children and one grandchild present. I can’t help but think of Allie. If she lives to a similar age, she will have spent nearly eighty years without a father. How is that fucking right?
My heart keeps coming back to my mother. In the span of a month, she will have lost a child and a parent. I watched my children running circles in our grass today, lap after lap, oblivious to time and existing in the moment. Every parent has those moments, almost daily, when you look at your child and you think your heart might actually burst with love. I see them, and wonder what my mom must be feeling, how she keeps going. For her, for Allie, for all of us, how is this fair?
It’s not. I know that. Life is not fair, as I’ve heard a thousand times before. But it still makes me angry. Maybe tomorrow will bring peace. I hope so. Tonight, I’d settle for numb.