Thahabu

My grandma died last Thursday. I am terrible at grieving. I don’t know how to grieve. My dad told me about it over the phone. I remained calm, then cried a bit when he hung up. I called my sister, assuming that my dad had called her first, or she already heard the news. I thought we could comfort each other. I was wrong. Nobody told her. I began sobbing, and fell to my knees when I heard her cry after I told her that one of the closest things we had to a mom was gone. I probably stayed in that position for 15 minutes, knee-deep in the pea coat I had thrown on the floor after coming home from a date I had earlier in the night. Once the conversation ended and the, “Call me if you need anything”’s were said, I tried to do some work, but ended up falling asleep. I woke up that morning and told myself it didn’t matter. Grandmas die. She was sick and in a lot of pain. She’s in a better place now. No more pain. I mean, it’s not like we didn’t see this coming. I got to say goodbye to her a few days before. And I held her hand after they removed her breathing tubes. I was so proud of her because I thought that would be the end. My aunt asked her if she was going to breathe on her own once they removed the device. My grandma gave her a strong, slightly annoyed nod, that, “Of course I’ma breathe. I do whatever the hell I want!” nod. My grandma is so strong—all of her expressions are razor sharp and unforgiving. We used to call her O.G.G., “Original Gangster Grandma.” She doesn’t renege on her promises. She breathed. I was so thankful she didn’t leave us in those moments. I don’t think I’ve ever been more pleased with the sound of another human being coughing and catching their breath. She was able to breathe for about two days, only to pass on the same day my uncle (her son) died six years ago. Everyone is saying that was him calling her home.

I don’t feel very attached to the world right now. I got through all my classes this week, but only attended two the week before. Other than this diary entry, I’ve only told about three people about her death. I still haven’t taken the time to sit down and really endure these feelings. I don’t know how to mourn someone. Is there a proper way to grieve? If there is, I don’t know how to do it. I wish I did because it always comes too late, or at the wrong time. I dealt with losing my mom before I could even walk. I didn’t truly start to grieve her until I was in middle school to now. It comes in waves. It will be my first Thanksgiving without her. Christmas, Easter, her birthday, all those holidays, I associate with my family coming together for my grandmother. I don’t know how we’re going to celebrate them without her. She used to mistakenly tell her friends that I write for the New York Times (grandmas; am I right?) I used to correct her, but towards the end I stopped. I was just happy that she was so proud of me. I feel so selfish for wishing she was still here, and at the same time I’m OK with it. She needed to rest, she was fighting for so long, I could tell she was tired. I’m dreading the funeral because I won’t be able to pretend like none of this is happening anymore. It will all be real and staring me in the face. It’s twisted, how the moment you need someone the most, they can’t be there. ♦