An Unceasing Stream of Consciousness on Grief
Writer’s Note: I wrote this in the throes of a grief attack. I am aware that this entire post is word vomit and an unceasing stream of consciousness, but it is my very raw and honest portrayal of my current grief. I made no edits, and am aware this is way longer than anything else I’ve ever posted. Thank you for being here.
I, unfortunately, am no stranger to grief. I’ve lost my great grandparents, my paternal grandfather with whom I was very close, childhood friends in car accidents, schoolmates to suicide, adult friends to overdoses… I’ve been acquainted with death and funerals for most of my life. At one point, I went to a funeral at least once a year for 7 years straight.
Most of these were very difficult to get through emotionally. Most were taken far too soon, or way too suddenly for my liking. I don’t do well with change, I am an extremely emotional and sensitive person, and I hold on to relationships very strongly.
Prior to my paternal grandfather, my Poppy, passing, I had a dream about two weeks before where he told me in my dream that he was going to die soon. I had told my dad about the dream the next evening and he assured me my Poppy was fine. About two weeks later, my dad showed up to my mother’s apartment, and when I opened the door I said, “Poppy died, didn’t he?”
I was very obviously heartbroken, but felt a little at ease knowing I had been “notified” of this and could prepare even if I didn’t fully believe he was about to pass. I held on to this praying that this gift would continue to assist me in the future.
My Granny and I were two peas in a pod. I have always felt a very close kinship with her. Some of my earliest memories are playing computer games with her in the late 1990s. She paid for my private school education, my braces, my first car, my college education, and plenty of other miscellaneous expenses throughout my life. I am beyond grateful, lucky, and privileged to have this assistance.
Growing up, I’d spend every Saturday night with her while my dad DJed and my mom would go clubbing. She’d have coffee ice cream (my favorite) ready, a movie picked out, and bubble bath for me. I loved these nights even though I equally dreaded waking up extra early on Sunday mornings to go to church with her. She always arrived at church way earlier than anyone else because she assisted in the office and was the organist.
Fast forward to high school and I started being a caregiver for my Grandpa Bob, my Granny’s husband. When he had to go to the hospital, I stayed with him, helped Granny at home, drove her to and from the hospital to visit, and just helped out where I could. When he passed in 2014, my Granny slowly started declining.
My Granny had Essential Tremors, which is similar to Parkinson’s, but is isolated to her hands. This meant she had difficulty feeding herself, writing, cleaning herself up after the restroom, basically anything you need your hands to do. I continued coming over once a week to help her bathe, cook, clean, etcetera.
I did this for 10 years by myself. I had some assistance the last 2 years she was in her home because her needs vastly overcame what I could offer. It became increasingly difficult to care for her and meet her physical demands. However, whenever I’d get frustrated, I’d immediately correct myself and remind myself how special this time would be when she was no longer here or she no longer needed me. I hated changing her diapers, but I loved the intimacy it gave us. I truly loved her more than anyone or anything else, and I know I was equally loved in return.
She called me her “Gal Pal,” and loved just chatting with me. I’d show her my new nail color, she LOVED when I started wearing my hair naturally, she loved when I talked about boys and especially loved meeting the few ones who won that honor.
She had my back more than anyone else, and made me feel more loved than anyone ever has and probably ever will. I believe in soulmates in a variety of senses - not just your romantic soulmate. And I truly believe my Granny was one of my soulmates in this lifetime.
In early 2021, she contracted COVID-19 and had to go to the hospital due to her age and health risks. She overcame COVID and went to a rehab facility. Before she had COVID, she could walk, though she didn’t like doing it. When she went to the rehab facility, she lost almost all of her motor functions outside of her hands - which, as I stated above, is not saying much.
We moved her to a nursing home - something we had been trying to direct her toward for around 2 years at this point. She finally agreed and moved.
I feel ashamed to admit this, especially so openly in this forum, but I didn’t visit her immediately. I said, “I need a break.” Being a caregiver is incredibly difficult work. Not just physically, but mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. I had picked her up off the ground multiples times over the years while she wailed that she wanted to die. I had had human waste on plenty of my clothing. I had pleaded, yelled, bargained with her to please just help me out with her own physical well-being. So I told myself I could “take a break” and not visit her as often in the beginning.
I did start visiting her, and I loved seeing her. But the entire environment was depressing to me. She was depressed. I hated visiting. I would go, and would be short with her, or would be on my phone. Looking back, I hate myself for doing that. I thought I had more time with her. There are no excuses, but I thought I had more time and that I would ride through this wave of discomfort.
Easter weekend 2022, I was “too busy” to visit her. I called her and said I’d come visit Wednesday or Thursday of that week. I didn’t. I didn’t call or text or let her know I wasn’t coming. I just didn’t go. I said to myself, “I’ll go Saturday - my normal visit day.”
Friday night, I stayed at my boyfriend’s apartment. Around 5:30am, my boyfriend wakes me up and says, “Your mom keeps calling me.” I knew deep down. I knew something awful was happening.
She was crying and told me that my precious, wonderful, silly Granny had passed overnight. I immediately went to my mom and I felt numb. I cried a few times over the next days. I cried when I spoke at her funeral.
What was most difficult for me during this time was my last interaction with her. I always made sure to let her know how much I loved her, valued her, respected her. I would still text her a heart emoji or say, “thinking of you today, Gal Pal” knowing she couldn’t operate her phone anymore. I always showed up for her. Until I didn’t. That last week, that last opportunity, and I didn’t show up. I stood her up.
My therapist encouraged me to let go of this mindset and tried I did. I went on with my routine, even went on a trip to Guatemala with my mom and sister.
I was warned that sometimes, as a caregiver, you experience a delayed grief. One day, it’ll just hit you while you’re driving. I kept telling my friends when they inquired about how I was doing, “I’m doing fine! I’m not sure it’s fully hit me quite yet though…”
I hadn’t spoken to my uncle, my Granny’s son and mom’s brother, since 2019. We would be cordial when we saw each other, but we had a falling out at Thanksgiving, as most “fallings out” happen this day. We had a fraught relationship and it was difficult, but I did love him very much. We bonded over our shared love of cats, humor (though we didn’t have the same sense of humor), and reading.
I often spoke poorly of him. He would lash out, I would tell him he was being an asshole or call him out on his behavior I deemed “shitty,” especially if it involved my Granny, and the cycle would continue. I finally made the decision to put up a wall and not communicate with him.
While I was on vacation with my boyfriend and his family the week of June 13, 2022, my mom called me and asked if she should call and check on my uncle. I said, “No. If he wanted to talk to us, he would. We’ve made ourselves open and available and he doesn’t treat us nicely. Don’t call him.”
Monday, June 20, it hit me finally that I would never be able to hug my Granny. I would never be able to hold and squeeze her hand, tell her one last time how much I loved her and truly loved our time together, that she was the greatest thing to happen to me. I sobbed like an absolute baby in my car. I called my sister and just wailed like I had been shot. I felt a physical pain that equated to how much I deeply missed her.
10 minutes after I called my sister, my mom called me and said my uncle, her brother, had also passed.
It was too much! Too much death. Too soon. Too much emotion. I felt my chest crack open and I wept. I had just told her last week to not call him! Her only brother! I encouraged her to not reach out! And now he was gone!
Again, I immediately booked it to my mom’s house. This time, I was weeping openly. I felt like all of the grief I hadn’t been feeling over the past two months, and this fresh new grief and guilt, had compounded into one moment. It felt like an endurance test of how much pain one person could feel at one time. I was failing and falling.
When I arrived at my mom’s, she was in a ball on the floor, with my sister cradling her, sobbing. I joined them on the ground and immediately started apologizing, saying I can’t believe he was gone, I can’t believe I told you not to call him,
I’m so sorry I’m so sorry I’m so sorry.
My sister and I helped my mom up, helped her shower. I made calls to family and friends to let them know David was no longer with us. We had no answers. We didn’t know how or when he passed. His work and neighbors had tried getting in touch with us, but had the wrong numbers. We didn’t know.
While my relationship with my uncle was difficult, he was still so loved. He was funny, loyal, loved cats, and was so smart. We bonded over cats, reading, and random funny things we enjoyed. While he drove me nuts, I did love him. And I am filled with this awful guilt and grief knowing that our falling out has contributed to him pulling away from us.
All of the information that has come out surrounding his death has been more and more awful, more and more horrific. I have an intimate history with depression, but this deep sadness was unlike anything else.
This is what my days looked like for a little over a week:
Wake up at 8:26am
Join virtual morning meeting with swollen, Quasimodo eyes at 8:30am
Get back in bed and cry or stare at the wall
Make myself go to pilates or yoga at 5pm
Shower/Cry in the shower to Bridge Over Troubled Water on repeat
Get back in bed
Repeat
I have had a hard time doing my household chores, working, focusing on anything. Picking a television show to watch is too much right now. I normally read voraciously, but now I don’t want to pick up a book. For days after my Granny passed, I didn’t want to do anything because I think I wanted to live in the “Before Times.” I just want to lie in bed for hours and days. I also have always reached out to friends and family when I am struggling, but this time I have retreated. Often texting someone saying, “I am not doing well,” then when they reply asking how they can help, I don’t reply. I feel so isolated and alone in my grief, not wanting to be a downer on others, but internally begging to not be left alone.
After about a week of overwhelming sadness, I had a few days of feeling normal. Happy even! Part of me thought, “okay I’m good now… I am done.” Wrong.
Grief is so fucking heavy. It just waits in the wings and kamikazes itself into your chest. It hits and you can’t breathe. Can’t catch your breath. Out of nowhere you are openly weeping and wailing and begging to give years off your life in order to say one last “I love you,” hold their hand, give them a hug, take back a mean word. It is an agonizing and isolating pain.
I thought I was an expert on grief, but this time has hit me differently… more acutely. No one knows how to handle another person’s grief. They try to distract you, “make you happy,” say encouraging things. None of it helps. I want to sit in silence. I want to cry. I want to be held or be in the presence of someone without having to contribute to a conversation. I don’t know what I want.
I am so lucky to have an amazing boyfriend, incredibly supportive and kind friends, and a family learning to be there for each other emotionally. I still cannot make it through the day most days even with the strength of my support system and strict routine.
I have no way to end this right now, as I am still very much struggling in my day-to-day. However, I’d like to share what I read at my Granny’s funeral below:
I spent every Sunday with my granny for around 12 years. I always knew how special those Sundays would be for me, and while I would lament driving from Downtown to Bartlett, as soon as I saw her, I would always smile, tell her I loved her, and would help her with various tasks. We would chat about what was going on in the world, both far and wide, and closer to home. She’d ask me about school, or my job later in life, various friendships and relationships, and always remembered who I was speaking about. We’d work on her crossword puzzles and I would help bathe her. These moments will carry me for the rest of my life.
While there were some hard moments, 99% of the time was pure joy spending time with her. We had such a unique and special relationship – one I believe breaks the bounds of typical granddaughter/grandmother relationships. I truly believe our souls found each other for the specific purpose of loving each other unconditionally, fully, and without judgment.
She was incredibly smart and independent. One day, when chatting about traveling, she told me about how a friend of hers had surprised her husband with a trip to Ireland. The husband remarked how he didn’t care to go to Ireland, much to her friend’s upset and disappointment. Her friend mentioned how the tickets would probably go to waste since she didn’t want to go to Ireland alone.
Granny said, “they won’t go to waste! I’ll go with you!” And thus two women traveled to Ireland together. This story might not touch some of you the way it touched me, and still makes my heart swell – but this is how I tend to travel and how I tend to love. It was a direct representation of how sturdy and unflinching she was in her relationships.
My granny was an all-around perfect grandmother. When I was a child, she was a typical perfect grandmother in the sense that we’d bake Auntie Anne’s pretzl kits together, watch Harry Potter, and we’d play computer games. Some of my very first memories are playing Barbie Detective on the computer with her while we ate our collective weights in popcorn in the late 90s.
As I grew up, our relationship evolved to a more mature, but still loving and incredible relationship. While we didn’t play Barbie Detective and watch movies anymore, we’d watch Cash Cab and try to out-do each other with our trivia knowledge, while also remarking about how cute we thought Ben Bailey, the host, is. We’d take naps – her in her chair, me on the couch. We’d also talk about our lives – mine as I was growing, and her younger years and how similar we were at times.
A few years ago, I got a book of questions to ask her about her life growing up – we have subsequently lost that book, but one answer I will always remember was to the question, “what was your childhood nickname?” She replied, “well, the kids on the playground would call me Ginny Farts instead of Ginny Hartz.” To hear my granny say “farts” made me laugh so hard – and we both remarked on how unoriginal “Ginny Farts” was
My Granny was unabashedly herself. She never wavered in her beliefs, her personality, or her wants depending on the crowd she was around. She was fully aware of herself – both the good and the “northern” as she’d often say. One of the last times I saw her in the nursing home, she remarked on how she struggled sometimes in the south because people thought she was mean since she didn’t call people “sweetie,” or “honey,” and made sure to express these struggles with a faux-sweet southern accent. I asked her, “is that why or do you think you can actually be a little gruff with people?” She paused for a moment to reflect and said “well, that may be part of it, too.”
We had an uncanny ability to be absolutely real and honest with each other without hurting each other’s feelings… sometimes. If I thought she was being a bit hard on people, I’d tell her that. If she thought I was acting “like a drama queen,” she’d tell me that, too. But for the most part, we’d talk about how wonderful we thought the other one was. Usually starting with her saying how she loved to see me smile, then me saying how much I loved her and give her a squeeze. We’d go round and round with these “love bombs” I guess you could say. But no one made me feel more loved than she did. I hope she felt the same in return.
I started seeing a therapist in 2014, and for years, Granny and I would get dinner before every single one of my sessions. We’d go to Steak n Shake and have milkshakes – her a double chocolate, me a side-by-side vanilla and mocha. She’d ask what I planned on talking about with my therapist, and sometimes I’d share. Other times, I just wanted to focus on spending time with her in the moment. I think I always knew no time on earth would be enough with her.
When she started to really decline physically, I would often cry the entire way home after I left taking care of her. I hated seeing her struggle physically, knowing she was still fully mentally aware of everything. I know she would get frustrated with her shaky hands, her failing ability to move freely, and her loneliness during the week at home. I would often Facetime or call her and just chat about nothing – having our “girl talks” as she called it.
Seeing her in the nursing home was incredibly difficult for me. I still made time to see her, but I felt different. I would be mad and annoyed and upset. More so at the situation than anything in particular. I would often leave feeling guilty, and thus the circle of bad feelings would continue. Her last week, I had a flat tire, so I didn’t visit her like I had planned. I called her on Easter and we chatted – I told her how much I love her and how I missed seeing her on Easter – but that I was just so busy. I promised to see her later that week. I didn’t – and I will regret that for the rest of my life.
I tried to make sure she knew how much I loved her every single time I saw her or spoke with her. I told her she was my gal pal, she was the greatest woman I knew, how I aspired to be as strong as her. She’d respond by saying I was perfect. I hope she knew how special she was to me, and to all of you here today. I know no one will ever love me the way she did – and while I have a massive hole in my heart and in my life that will never be filled, I count myself so lucky to know such a special love and friendship in her.
Over the past few years, she’d reflect on what she wanted at her funeral – much to my horror at the time. I’d bark, “don’t talk about that. I can’t even think about it. I will never recover!” And she’d roll her eyes and say, “well girly, you better prepare!” Nothing could prepare me for this heartache and grief I feel so acutely. Over the past year though, we would talk more seriously. I shared a poem with her that I said might bring me some comfort when she passes and she asked me to read it. I started crying as I read it to her, because, as I said, I could’ve never imagined this day. She said it was a beautiful poem and that she hopes it would bring me comfort when the moment happened. The poem is Death is Nothing at All by Henry Scott-Holland.