Grief and death are things that we know are imminent. Even when it’s expected, the impact is never really any “less.”
It’s more of a process that never truly ends. The pain softens a bit but you never truly move on, you just sort of find ways to move with it.
My grandma passed away about 10 years ago and the feelings remain the same. The sting and the ache of what once was is still very prevalent.
The love that was there hasn’t really disappeared, it has transformed and can be seen in so many aspects of my life and who I am.
Since her passing, we’ve been lucky enough to have several more years with my grandpa.
But as always, time moves forward and his health is declining. At 98, he was recently moved into assisted living where he is receiving the extra care he needs.
As this was expected, something happened that stirred my feelings in a way that sort of caught me off guard.
In our family group chat, my mom sent a text that said my grandma’s piano was going to a new home.
Even though my grandma has been gone several years, her piano has remained in their house along side so many years of memories.
It got me thinking about how their house has been sort of a fixture in my life that has always been there.
Now that my grandpa isn’t living there anymore, I’m sure my mom and her siblings are going to be going through things and making those difficult decisions on what to do next.
It’s the end of an era in many ways and it hit me like a ton of bricks.
This house, this place where I spent so much time as a kid is moving into another time period where another family will hopefully make their own memories there.
I remember my grandma playing her piano frequently. I wondered what she would think of someone else having it now.
I think if she were here, she might be a little sad to see it go but I think she would also love that someone else is going to get the chance to play it and love it as much as she did.
Pianos should be played, not sitting silent and lifeless against a wall for years gathering dust.
There’s so many memories I have from spending time at their house.
Family gatherings kind of declined in recent years but when I was really young I remember spending time there with aunts and uncles as well as many of my cousins.
The yard was always immaculate. My grandparents really enjoyed gardening and my grandpa was known for his massive garden that took up a good portion of their backyard.
Along with fruits and vegetables, my grandma loved flowers. Whether it was wildflowers or tulips, there were always flowers of some kind in their yard.
As my grandpa has gotten older, the backyard has morphed into a rock feature garden of sorts with seating/lighting that he was really proud of.
I come from a pretty big family and my grandparents had this photo cork board in the kitchen where they always had so many pictures (mostly of the grandkids).
I remember this picture board being one of the best features of the house and it was constantly changing. My grandma was always so happy to talk about her grandkids and what everyone was doing in their lives.
There’s just so many memories. From the old bunny cookie jar to the dinosaur pop up books, there’s so much about their house that I remember.
There was this time I wore my rollerblades inside and I clipped one of the cabinet doors in the kitchen, breaking off one of the corners.
I was so upset. Come to find out my grandpa had fixed this cabinet door twice before, as I wasn’t the first to break the corner.
There were also a few tiny candy stashes around the house that we all knew were there. My grandpa loves jelly beans and always had a few to share.
Food storage was a big thing for them. In the basement they had what everyone referred to as the “fruit room.”
This room was where their old coal chute used to be and all of the vegetables they would can were in there along with any extra items my grandma had bought.
We always had to have a peak in there to see what kind of goodies we might get to have if we asked.
Another memory I have is the old commodore computer they had. This computer was ancient and probably one of the first to exist.
My grandma would set up this game for me called “Nevin.” It was basically this guy existing in his house and you could give him commands to eat, drink water, listen to music or play games among other things.
I thought it was the coolest thing at the time.
My grandma lived in Tahiti during one point in her life and she had this beautiful Tahitian trunk.
I used to look forward to the far and few times she would open it. She had so many shells. I was enamored at how big they were because I had never seen anything like them before.
I hadn’t thought about them in years until one day after she passed, my mom gave them to me.
Who knows exactly at what point she did this, but my grandma had set them aside years before with my name on them.
My grandma was a wonderful person who always seemed to remember the little things.
She kept an ongoing list of birthdays and always sent a card, even if we hadn’t talked in awhile.
She was an artist, a musician and she loved reading, sewing and the arts. She even spoke French.
She had a way of making people feel important and heard even if they were talking about the most ridiculous things.
I was in awe of her each time I witnessed this.
She loved her family and the church.
I’m so grateful for our time together and that I knew her for the time I did.
One of the last memories I have of her is when they had an electronic chair installed on the stairs in their house.
I can still hear her saying, “You wanna see my new toy?”
She was smiling so big as the chair carried her to the basement and I won’t forget how giddy she was to show me.
You guys are probably tired of me referencing Jim Carrey at this point but he once said, “Grief is not a burden to be hidden. It is not a weakness to be ashamed of. It is the deepest proof that love existed, that something beautiful once touched your life. So let yourself feel it. Let yourself mourn. Let yourself remember.
“There is no timeline, no ‘right’ way to grieve. Some days will be heavy, and some will feel lighter. Some moments will bring unexpected waves of sadness, while others will fill you with gratitude for the love you were lucky enough to experience.
“Honor your grief, for it is sacred. It is a testament to the depth of your heart. And in time, through the pain, you will find healing — not because you have forgotten, but because you have learned how to carry both love and loss together.”
Amanda White is a staff writer for the Mariposa Gazette and can be reached at amanda@mariposagazette.com
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