RIP Grandma

My grandmother died.

It's been a little over a week and honestly I didn't think it would affect me like this. In fact, I had a whole different blog post written that I meant to schedule for posting while I was gone. Then I forgot. So today I went to add the finishing touches and realized, while it's still true and still going to be posted later, I have something else I want to say today.

I went to my mom's for the funeral. I told myself I went because it was expected of me, because what sort of granddaughter misses her grandmother's funeral service, because my mom needed me. I told myself I didn't need everyone offering condolences and saying they were sorry for my loss. That we weren't close so it wasn't that upsetting. And then I woke up Wednesday morning. We had a ton of things to do before we were ready to go to the service and the minute I got out of bed, I started working on them.

The photo collage to be displayed needed to be done. The house needed to be picked up because people were coming by after. I needed to get dressed and do my hair, my makeup. I started working and then, still in my pajamas, two of Mom's friends showed up for a ride. We knew they were coming but they were early and everyone else was already upstairs getting ready. So I played hostess and I got coffee and creamer and then excused myself to get dressed.

From that moment, I didn't stop moving for nearly 48 hours. Oh I sat at the funeral but I didn't rest. I perched on the edge of my chair. And I drove home of course (four and a half hours worth of driving). But who can say that driving that long, in the twilight and then the night, is relaxing? I brought the kids back with me yesterday so I could clean. And I did the dishes. And the laundry. And I showered. And I unpacked. And I made dinner. And I don't think I've been relaxed for one moment since I woke up Wednesday morning.

If I stop moving, stop doing things, stop and just relax, I'm afraid I'll think. And if I think, I'll process. And if I process, my grandmother really will be in that box, all turned to ash, and I might just cry. And I can't cry because I hate crying. Especially in front of other people. It was bad enough having to carefully weigh, when speaking at her funeral, whether it was better to look like a stone faced bitch and not shed a tear in front of all these people or whether it was better to show my weakness and know that they all understood the fact that I lost my grandma. (In the end, it didn't matter what I thought. I cried anyhow.)

This is a reaction I never thought I'd have. I never thought grief might make me unable to relax, oscillating between curled up on the couch mostly zoned out and unable to sit because there's shit that suddenly became very important to get done. And considering the fact that I know I'll see her again someday and the fact that she was in truly awful health, I'm sort of surprised it has me this upset. Several times in the last five years, I thought she was going to die in surgery. And then, on a random Wednesday night, in her sleep, she stopped breathing. It was unexpected and shocking. And there's a whole lot more details that are infuriating. She's gone. And it's hard to imagine and it's hard to wrap my head around.

My grandma died. And I'm here processing that fact. Grandma, you've got your health back. And your parents. And your best friend. And your son. And I know you're happy and I'll see you again. Until then, just try not to ask G-d any questions about how He came up with catfish, okay?