Similarly, I think I will always remember exactly where I was as my grandmother passed away. I've already forgotten what I was wearing, but I do know the intersection I was at. That morning, like many other Saturday mornings, I got up early and went running. It wasn't my best run ever, admittedly my mind was elsewhere. But during the run a song came on my iPod, and it reminded me of her. Not because we ever listened to it together, but the lyrics seemed to be exactly what I wanted to say to her. On my way home, somewhere slightly after 10am central time, I replayed Tom Petty's Wildflowers in the car, while silently telling my Memere that she belonged somewhere she felt free. Listening to my mom's stories of that morning, this pretty much coincided with the beginning of the very end. Almost makes me feel like she heard me. And then managed enough strength to wait for my parents to get there and be by her side. I couldn't have wished for anything better for her, than if I could have been there myself.
Her death came as no surprise to any of us, I had spoken to my mom the day before and we knew that she was very weak and going to go soon. In fact, when we spoke that day we both were wishing that she'd go quickly. She'd lived 98 mostly good years, and as best we could determine, she was probably tired of fighting. I give her credit, because I imagine I'd have quit fighting long before she did.
Six weeks later, and I often feel selfish whenever I realize how much I miss her. I know full well that she's better off, but I haven't actually come around to the place where I feel much comfort in that. I consider myself very fortunate to have had such a close relationship with my grandmother, and to have so many wonderful memories of times with her. But, I still sometimes find myself waiting to hear a weekly update about her from my mom, then needing to remind myself that there isn't going to be one. Nearly 30 years being a family of four, I suppose it's understandable that it'll take some time to get used to this.
Tomorrow my parents are heading up to Dracut to attend the funeral of my mom's Uncle Henri - my grandmother's baby brother. She was the oldest of four, and Henri was the youngest, and this marks the end of their generation of Ostiguy's. I can almost find some additional closure in that. I never knew her other brothers, or her husband - they had all passed away before I was born. But I did know Uncle Henri. It makes me feel happy thinking of them reunited somewhere. I know it would make her happy too!
*Turns out, in true high school girl fashion, I was freaking out over nothing. The boy who kissed the girl was NOT my boy, but a different one. I just ASSUMED we were talking about my boy. Stories about another boy?! Why tell me those!?
Six weeks later, and I often feel selfish whenever I realize how much I miss her. I know full well that she's better off, but I haven't actually come around to the place where I feel much comfort in that. I consider myself very fortunate to have had such a close relationship with my grandmother, and to have so many wonderful memories of times with her. But, I still sometimes find myself waiting to hear a weekly update about her from my mom, then needing to remind myself that there isn't going to be one. Nearly 30 years being a family of four, I suppose it's understandable that it'll take some time to get used to this.
Tomorrow my parents are heading up to Dracut to attend the funeral of my mom's Uncle Henri - my grandmother's baby brother. She was the oldest of four, and Henri was the youngest, and this marks the end of their generation of Ostiguy's. I can almost find some additional closure in that. I never knew her other brothers, or her husband - they had all passed away before I was born. But I did know Uncle Henri. It makes me feel happy thinking of them reunited somewhere. I know it would make her happy too!
*Turns out, in true high school girl fashion, I was freaking out over nothing. The boy who kissed the girl was NOT my boy, but a different one. I just ASSUMED we were talking about my boy. Stories about another boy?! Why tell me those!?
