skblog

2 July 2026

12:14pm

And now, I have experienced it. Losing someone I was very close to. Grandma is gone, gone gone gone, only to be remembered. I hear older people speak of relatives long-gone, and I can't believe I watched my very own grandma go from singing and breathing to simply a memory. I miss her terribly. I miss her so much! I miss her so much that I have now begun to believe that she can somehow still hear me, which is a frustrating thought, since I know that she cannot. It also leads me to wonder where she is, and when she will come back, which tricks me into thinking she is still alive somewhere, or inevitably will return.

I am making her funeral pamphlet. It's nice to still have something to do for her. I am looking forward to being in her house, walking to the beach, putting my toes in the ocean, looking up at the now-defunct pier, crying with her friends, laughing about happy memories, and taking a deep breath.

I spoke to grandma for the last time on June 18th, as preparations were being made for her deep sleep. When I saw her, I almost didn't know what to say. What do you say to someone when you know that your words will not live in their memory for more than a few moments? When there is no tomorrow? When there is nothing to say? It turns out, Gram filled in for me -- she began to sing when I began to cry. Comforting me as if I were a baby, giving me the lyrics to march on with strength.

She slept from the 18th till the 24th. I saw her on the phone only twice throughout that stretch, it was quite difficult to see her still with us, yet already in the realm of mystery. After she died, I felt something leave my body. Dizzy and exhausted, I told Rachel I'd be lying down for 5 minutes. My head hit the pillow, and the phone rang. I knew what had happened before I picked up. I saw grandma, told her I loved her, cried, and believed she was still in there somewhere. I saw her twice that day, once with her mouth open, and then an hour later with her mouth forming the shape of a smile. That especially felt like she was still somewhere.

I think of it in 3 stages here: first she slept, then she died, now she is ashes. Each brings with it a new layer of impossibility and improbability. (I very much enjoyed the death meetup group that Rachel and I attended at Greenwood Cemetary on Tuesday). The way that Gram said something along the lines of "It has been a very wonderful past few months" made it hard to believe she could possibly be talking about dying in that way. That was, however, in response to me remarking that we had seen eachother 5 out of 6 months of the year. I don't like that now the months have already continued marching on, and now it is a month in which I did not see my grandma, and will not see my grandma.

When she slept, she was gone. She spoke her last words, we would never hear from her again. I feel sad knowing that she knew she was speaking her last words, that she pushed that button knowing she was leaving her life behind. She slept, and yet, there was a chance she could hear us. Yet already, we would never know with any certainty. We would never know what she was experiencing, what she could comprehend, if she could dream, if she could remember, if she could reflect upon anything at all. Much like wondering what a baby is thinking, and knowing that by the time they can voice a thought, that moment will be long-forgotten. Grandma was gone, her experience a mystery, anything left within her was no longer for us to know.

When she died, she was truly gone. No longer could there be a chance of her hearing mechanism working, no longer could she possibly be dreaming. I much preferred having a breathing possibly-dreaming grandma, than a completely gone grandma, for the sake of wrapping my mind around the finality of the experience. Even if there is some form of consciousnessthat transofrms and remains somewhere in the great beyond (which I highly doubt but I will leave room for doubt), there is no hearing mechanism connected to an auditory processing cortex in the brain, though the physical structure still remains. There could still be some electrical signals in the body, but the body has died.

I am very disturbed by cremation, as now there isn't any grandma at all. What do you mean that the grey dust in Kaitlin's house is grandma? This is the hardest for me to comprehend. Especially the idea of it divided up, in separate hands. Someone has part of her body, someone has another, spreading her further and further from being whole. Fragments and dust of the auditory processing system. I cannot believe this.

I saw her in January, when she was in the hospital. Rachel flew with me, missing the start of her semester. Brady and Ember drove down. I thought I wouldn't see her again.

I saw her in February, for that golden week. The snowstorm kept me there longer, I'll call it fate. It was wonderful, beautiful, difficult, grief-filled, celebratory, sad, heavy, golden. Walks in the neighborhood, going to Riley's, being in community, Rebecca giving me Aunt Ginny's cat, walking to OB with mom and doug, sitting with grandma, sitting with grandma, finally getting to just sit with grandma. Bringing her water with ice, her snipping at me for 'smelling her armpit' (trying to put my head on her shoulder). When I first arrived, there she was on the couch. I sat down beside her. "So are you going to miss me?". I burst into tears. Of course I am!!!! And now, I am. We had many moments just us two. Moments I'll treasure. On the couch there when I arrived, in the hospital chapel waiting for grandpa to be wheeled in, in the hospital bathroom, in the hospital lobby as a volunteer played piano, in her house on the couch, etc. I was able to make videos for the future, for the next generation. I was able to be there when Gram and Janice planned her funeral. I was able to be there.

I saw her in March, when she came to stamford. There she was, picking me up from the train station. I couldn't believe it. Working on the puzzle, laughing in the kitchen, eating frozen yogurt, sitting in her bed with mom and kait, sitting by the big back window with mom and gram and cheering about the upcoming proposal, and then rachel joining us and us all watching the storm. The goodbye didn't feel right enough to be the last. It felt rushed, with too many people around, tears in my eyes and running out the door.

I saw her in May, at the end of the month. My stomach flu fervor left me in tears on the air mattress, I just need to see her again, I said. I stayed with my gram as May became June, I left on the first of June. I walked down those stairs for the last time with my gram in that house, picking up a stone from the bottom of the steps that I still have in my black cross-body bag. This visit was difficult. The last word gram said to me was "Go!". May into June I slept in The Nest, with my mom and Gram. We all held hands in the morning, an electric current connecting three generations. In february I so enjoyed sleeping in The Nest too, the floor nest at that time. This time, the three of us were in the bed. It felt so nice to be in that room. It felt like the circle of life. Like I was a baby bear or something like that. It was a difficult visit, I hopped in the car from the airport all smiles and enthusiasm to be there, and by the time we stopped at Cotijas, just Gram and I were in the car, Gram said she didn't want me to come -- she began crying, the only time I'd ever seen her cry. She must have been feeling so scared. That moment of emotion really did shake me, and I did want her to know that I am there for her. How can one person be so strong? She said we will cry, we will laugh, we will have our experience of this together. I love her so much. The next day, however, or maybe it was the day after that (it was the last day of May, I believe) she caught me tearing up in the other room, and had some strong words to say about that. It upset me greatly. However, before the night ended, we talked together for maybe half an hour, her on the couch, the seat closest to the kitchen, and me on the floor, looking up at my wonderful grandmother. I love her. I love her! I love her!

I love my grandma, I love my grandma, I love my grandma, I love my grandma, and I do believe she is somewhere, watching over me, because she believed in it so strongly.

I love you grandma, I love you forever! The last visit I saw you you told me that one day you'll be there, open arms, to welcome me to Heaven, the first person I'll see, you promised me. Though I've never believed in heaven before, somehow, this makes death not feel so scary. I LOVE YOU, GRAM!