Thrice

It's been three years since my Grandma died suddenly in front of me. Since that time my Grandpa has passed, I've moved into DC, I've been married, my sister's decided to have a family, and I've gotten a great job doing what I love. What's so insane, though, is that I feel like a lot of that happened without me being "me." I was there, doing what I know I needed to do for the future, but I wasn't there... my "higher brain" decided all of that. My self and my soul was trapped within the horrible day that I experienced and the things that no grandchild or loved one should ever have to witness. The blessing is that that it hurts so much because I really loved my grandmother... she was my friend and confidant and eternal support system... She gave me "gas" money even when I had no car and bought me clothes even when I didn't need any and made me sandwiches with white bread even if it wasn't healthy and came to get me at college for Thanksgiving even though she was nervous about the drive and thought that my bright green hair was the prettiest color she'd ever seen even if it meant her grandbaby was weird and punk. She was my truest pal.

But the past three years haven't really even been about grieving for all of these things I no longer have--they've been about war and isolation and violence and loneliness. No one else in my family can ever understand what happened to us that day and how it feels to be the last hope of life for someone... and for it to not be good enough. No matter how much my family tells me it wasn't my fault, they honestly don't know if that's true because I was the only one that was there. I made the choices that either kept her alive a bit longer for my Grandpa to say goodbye or killed her sooner than the ambulance could get her. That responsibility is mine and it won't ever go away. Nothing anyone will ever say to me will stop it. I will spend the rest of my life questioning what happened that day...

Luckily, I am getting back to my old self--friends and my boy and family have helped so much, and I can't even begin to say "thank you"... But part of me feels that my life will forever be defined by the events of June 1st, 2005... It will always be the marker of another year of me, another chance to move on, another beginning of the right choices instead of the wrong ones... the "me" that's struggling to let go of the guilt I feel for not being able to save her life and that's living with the hopelessness of never being able to express what it felt like to be there and that's understanding the loneliness and sorrow that has intruded into my marriage and my friendships and my self...

But for once, in three long years, something has changed. I still miss my Grandma... but that grief is separate from the nightmares and flashbacks and fears that intrude upon my waking and dreaming person. The "Grandma" of that day is no longer the only Grandma that I can think of... and for me, that is the first sign that "me" is coming back to life...

I feel like I can finally lay my Grandma to rest... and maybe cut myself a little bit of a break.