on death

Ever since my grandmother died, about a week and a half ago, I feel at a loss.

I started this blog entry wanting to set all the emptiness down on paper, so to speak, in hopes of depositing it here so I can go on my merry way, which is finishing this school while taking care of the kids by myself now that Daniel's off in New Zealand for two weeks while I've cancelled my and the kids' tickets.

But I just realized emptiness is not something that can be conquered with words or anything of substance. Not this kind.

Remorse and regret are also my constant companions. My mom just gave me an Hermes scarf that my brother had given our grandmother, and which our grandmother had treasured, treasured so much she had only worn it ever just once and still kept the box. She had, on the hospital bed, told my mom to return the Hermes scarf in its packaging to my brother if she died so it's not wasted or thrown away. And I thought, why didn't I ever buy anything that special for her?

Would I be less devastated now if I had taken this semester, instead of promising to next semester, to record her life story? Would I be less unwilling to let her go from this world if she had not told me with her literally last remaining coherent words (before she started having trouble breathing and then slipping into a coma) that "you will write my life story when I'm discharged from the hospital"? Would I?

I remember how my dad still cries when he remembers how his dad had requested a trip to visit us in the US and how that never happened before my grandfather died. I never thought I will also come to carry one of these kinds of regrets.

How could I think we had so much more time? Why didn't I realize how old she is and how tenuous life is? It is still inconceivable that she is gone. That one day my last grandfather will too. One never gets used to death. Never. never. It's one of those things that only gets harder to understand.