And so it goes

It's hard to believe that it's a few days any of six months since my nana passed away. 

It's almost comical that people really tell freshly wounded grievers that time will heal the pain.  It doesn't. You just grow numb to it in some lucky moments.  It catches up to you though.  You'll be sitting in an ordinary situation and it will just hit you.  You'll think of them in a present way and it will smack you right in the soul that there are no longer present moments with your loved one. 

It's a beautiful thing at the same time. You learn a lot about yourself and those around you. You explore moments in your memory that you almost forgot about. You feel your heart break in a million pieces and have faith in yourself that you will put yourself back together again. And sometimes, if I'm honest, you just straight up and lose your shit because the hurt sucks and is unbearable. You spend a lot of time by yourself (or with a two year old.) You may grin and bear it, but you make it. 

I have yet to dream about her. It's weird because I'll dream about being in the bar and it's open and there are customers.  Just no bartender. She's always somewhere but never seen.  She's talked about. Her presence is felt, but I just can't see her. I just long to see her and hear her.  I hope that eventually It does happen.   I've searched for videos that I "know" I had and cursed myself for switching my phone a million times and losing voicemails from her. (Would they survive five years?) I've dug in my memory and begged my mind to give me a sound clip of her.  It's just so, so odd that I just can't hear her voice in my head. I can imagine any voice you can think of, but not hers.  

She didn't want to be buried.  That's hard. I have no where to go. When my friend's mom died, I'd go to her grave whenever I had too much on my mind. I never realized how much it would affect me to not have a grave to go to. Just for some peace and seclusion. It hurts to pull into the bar because I just wait for her to come to the back door to see "what's doin'." 

I've tried to treat people like everyone is (or will be) someone's nana. To live and treat people like my nana would because she was an extraordinarily kind woman. 

I just cannot believe she's gone. 

That right there. That is a genuine statement that I say or think at least once a day. I just think of all she did in her life and it's just stopped.  Simple and easy as that.  Only it's not simple or easy, is it?  I almost regret going to to the nursing home after she passed. It's a sight I cannot get out of my head. I know that I needed to be there, but I wish, just for a second, I was in England or somewhere that I couldn't get to her then.  It haunts me most of the day. I see it when I go to sleep and I see it if I let my mind wander for one moment. 

The roses that were at the funeral home for her were the most beautiful roses I have ever seen. I wish it was normal to take a photo in a funeral home because I will not see roses that beautiful again. She looked beautiful.  She looked peaceful and not tired anymore. There were so many roses.  So.  Many. She was literally surrounded by roses and it looked like she was on a bed of roses. I mean, as beautiful as death could look, she nailed it.  It was almost as if the area that she was laid out in was glowing. It sounds like such a cliche, it's obnoxious, I know.  But when the pain is too much to bear, I think about those roses and how honestly peaceful she looked, finally.  I think that's what I did while we were at the funeral home.  I remember smiling and just going on about how beautiful the roses were. People probably thought I was crazy. 

As I've mentioned, I haven't lost someone as close as my nana was before.  This is my first time at the rodeo, and for that, I know I am lucky.  It's such a learning experience.  Is this grief really chained to me for the rest of my life?What if I live for 70 more years?  Does other sadnesses just take over or are they separate? This was such a hit for my wide-eyed and bushy tail look on life. And I think, maybe because I am a writer, that I just can't let go because I can't put into words how I feel. (I could probably draw it, ha, it would look like Mr.  Messy.) 

So. I don't know.  I don't know if there are any other words people can offer me.  I think that l, much to my dismay, is something I have to do on my own. That's interesting because whenever others have lost someone, I was always ready to help. Ready to talk.  In their faces. I never once thought that they would want to be left alone. The last six months have taken a lot of what I thought I knew and changed it.  

I don't have a way to end this post.

Simple and easy as that.