This has been one of the longest, most painful years of my life. In December of 2012, I lost my Grandma. She was the most amazing woman. She raised me and my brother - which doesn't come close to describing how she gave her whole life to her family and died without a nickle to her name because she was happier giving it away than holding onto it.
A month and 6 days later, I got a call early in the morning from my sweet niece that my brother had died. I could jokingly say, "You probably know him," but the joke would probably be on me because you just might. He was larger than life and he knew everyone or he knew someone who knew you or you knew someone who knew him.
Eight months later, I lost my precious Granny. Eunice was the classiest woman I've ever known and I could never even attain her level of strength. Her husband, my wonderful Granddaddy, had just died in Dec of 2011 and my cousin and I had tag-teamed Granny to keep her busy and well loved. My hat's off to my cousin who lives closer and has Granny's strength more than the rest of us combined. I guess I thought we could keep her going forever.
To be honest, we prepare ourselves on some minute level to lose our elders. Well, I thought I did. I treasured each moment with them and asked questions and listened to stories and stared into their eyes when they spoke - their brown eyes - for each of these precious people had varying shades of the same brown eyes they passed on to me and two of my beautiful children. I watched Grandma tap her feet and pat her knee when good music came on. I watched Granny flick her pinky on the steering wheel to straighten her ring. I watched Granddaddy scrub his hands after working all day on his cars.
Before my grandfather died, I was facing a harsh reality - that my elders - those people who raised me - who watched me grow up from that scraggily-tanned-bushy-haired kid with scraped-up knees - would die one day. Three of my grandparents lived to 85+ and until 2010, when my great aunt died, I had started thinking ... well, you know... I thought these are two of the toughest women I've ever known and they'll outlive us all.
Grandma, Phyllis, lost her mother (we all called Mama) the summer after she took me and my brother in. Grandma told me so many stories through the years and I saw how much she always missed Mama. I began telling my children and husband that I didn't want my own death to define them. I wanted them to remember the love and wonderful adventures and the warmth. I wanted them to carry the love with them, but most of all, I wanted them to live happy, wonderful lives full of joy and love.
I hadn't even learned how to live in a world without my grandmother - the person I called almost daily to update, to talk to, to get advice from - to just chat with. My brother and I were talking more often, almost every day. He and I were going to figure out how to breathe again, together.
Then wham.
January 24, 2013.
Early morning call. The day played through my head so many times. The screams. That weren't mine. The tears. The disbelief. People asking me to call to verify, but hanging up because they couldn't talk.
The screams. Oh my god the screams. There are some things you never forget.
I wanted to be the one to scream. I wanted to wail. I wanted ...
A do-over.
I wanted to go back two days - even one. I wanted to tell my brother screw not having insurance and go to the doctor. I wanted to beg and plead with him that hospital debt is better than dead. I wanted ...
I wanted my brother alive.
Hundreds of people poured out to say goodbye to my brother. Everyone needed to tell me how much he meant to them - how much they loved him - how horrified and stricken they were at his passing.
I comforted. I smiled. I hugged. And I almost...
I almost screamed. I almost wailed.
I almost broke.
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Allegiant by Veronica Roth
