I spent most of the afternoon at the hospital with my grandpa, who has days remaining at most. Then I had dinner with my grandma who recently survived a bad fall, but is weakening quickly, physically and mentally.
I was never particularly close with these grandparents, but my heart still breaks. It breaks watching them love on each other—chit chatting quietly, gentle touches of loving affection, and kissing goodbye through their masks. It breaks as I listen to my exhausted grandpa tell his adorable jokes, barely able to make sense of his words but seeing the joy shine through as he chuckles at each one. It breaks at the tender way my grandma still grabs both of my shoulders with her tiny, surprisingly strong hands and pulls me in for a kiss, even when I can tell she’s not positive who I am.
The grief tonight is big.
Grief for my grandparents, my dad, and my family.
Grief for myself and the way it feels to navigate this with certain people.
Grief for the unhealed generational trauma that makes these relationships what they are. Grief for what they could’ve been, yet will never be. Grief for so much more than can fit inside this post, but that I’ll tell you about someday soon.
I knew I’d be sad and I knew it’d be hard.
I didn’t know it would bring up so many complicated layers of grief and heartache.
Grateful to be here for it nonetheless.
Prayers for them are welcome.