September 23, 2024 | 12:47am
“You never really do know when the last time something could be is.
Sure, it’s a tale as old as time. Something everyone acknowledges once they realize how they took something or someone for granted after it’s too late.
Growing up is a funny thing. We are raised to go and spread our wings- find who we are and make something of ourselves. And as much as I believe that process to be necessary and true, I think too quickly we forget about what’s sometimes left behind in the process of becoming.
Oftentimes, becoming means exploring- moving. Figuring out your place in the world- literally. But all while figuring that out, what about the people who were a part of your beginning? The family, the friends? Because just as we are growing at a younger age, loved ones are getting older as well- and then somewhere along the way, while you’ve spent time discovering your own purpose and place on this floating rock, you’re 22 but they’re 88 and you went from seeing them every few weeks to a couple times a year.
The letters became more infrequent and messages almost nonexistent, and now here we are, time seems to be running out, and all that’s left is regret- something I told myself I’d try my best to live without. Yet, somehow it always has a way of creeping its way back in.
It’s in moments like these, where the found purpose in self discovering all seems to fade away and in turn feels more like an overwhelming sense of selfishness and guilt.
I guess overall the one hard truth of life is we can’t have it all. Nothing will ever be exactly the way we want it to be. It can be close- no doubt, but never exactly perfect. Along the way, we continue to make sacrifices, and then in certain moments- hard moments- we are stuck questioning if the decisions we made up until this point were the right ones.
I’m not really sure.
I’ve always been a firm believer in trusting the plan of life- that however it plays out is all how it’s written. In ways, out of our control. That even in the hard moments, in time, I’ll be able to see why something panned out the way it did.
But I’m not so sure about this one. I don’t really think this will be a memory I look back on and realize it happened the way it did. Instead, it’ll always just make me sad- reminding me to say I love you more and hug a little tighter- because you never really do know when the last time is going to be.
And now, here I am, hundreds of miles away, and when I return- you will be missing. And nothing but memories will flood my mind. I will envision your beautiful face peeking through the front door window in your perfectly put together outfits with your smile that shone like the sun- wishing I could tell you just one more time, how much you truly mean to me.”
I wrote this almost 2 years ago… Two.
September of 2024. I had just officially moved to Nashville, into my own place with 3 strangers, and I got a text from my parents that things weren’t looking too good. My grandma had seemed to have taken a turn for the worse and was declining at an alarming rate. Even if I booked a flight to fly out in a few days, it seemed there was a very serious reality that by the time I reached back north, she would no longer be with us.
In a sleepless night, 12:47am as you saw up above… I wrote this. I was filled with so much regret. The thought of never seeing my grandma again – of never knowing it was the last time – shattered me.
It’s almost 2 years later, and her funeral is tomorrow morning. Apologies for sounding so bluntly morbid, but that’s actually so far from the point I’m trying to get across…
Two years. I got two more years with her after that moment on that late September night.
And so there’s two things I would like to point out –
- What an absolute testament to her strength that is… She lived on to see more great grandchildren be born, celebrate birthdays all the way to 90, and even hosted Easter dinner at her house just this year.
- I am fully aware that not all of us get a gift such as this – but oh, what an absolute gift it was. It is.
I remember being so sick to my stomach the night I wrote that. I was mourning the loss of someone I hadn’t technically lost yet.
The last two years I cherished every moment. Every hug, every conversation.
This past Easter, while helping my dad and her set up for dinner, she asked if I would help put her curlers in her hair – and I will forever hold that moment in the center of my heart. There was a silence and a closeness all at once. I recognized how special that moment was while living it, and told myself to grasp onto it as long as I could.
Tonight I helped my dad put together photo boards to be displayed tomorrow. It was like a tsunami of memories overwhelming me all at once. As I taped each photo one by one, I couldn’t help but grin. It was like I was being momentarily transported back to each of those moments – and then it hit me. The moments, her smile, they’re all gone – or I guess I should say, there won’t be any new moments. No more memorial days running out to meet her at the car, no more arguments over Left, Right, Center on Christmas, no more pajamas on Christmas Eve. That was her thing, by the way… We always were allowed to open one gift from her on Christmas Eve before we all embarked to 10pm mass. Pajamas. Always matching, and always the cutest print. The coziest attire to welcome Santa later that night.
But I got two years.
I guess overall, moments like this are reminders of the fragility of life. Of moments and the people in them. We truly can never get a moment back – people, back.
So, next time grandma asks too many questions or grandpa gives you another chore to add to the to do list – I hope after the deep breath, you find the strength to smile. To say, “Of course! I love you.”
I know I will.
