I never got a chance to say goodbye

As a child, once my grandmother advanced far enough in age she moved in with my family.  This was nice because she constantly filled our home with her years of wisdom.  In my eyes, Grandma was a rock.  She was a tall, strong, proud, educated woman.  Just one or two generations removed from slavery, she grew up during an era where having those characteristics were very uncommon for a woman to display, especially a Black woman.  I admired her.  In her final years, I watched her battle illness quite often, but it seemed that no matter what hit her she would always bounce back stronger.  It was almost as if she were saying:

“Sickness you better try harder than that if you think you’re taking me out!”

One night; however, I remember being scared.  It was december 16, 1993.  Grandma had fallen ill again, but this time I was really worried.  I hadn’t seen her in that level of pain before.  Needlesstosay, I didn’t sleep very well that night.  What haunts me even more than that evening though, is the next morning.  It started out as any other school morning, but there was a strange aura or presence from the very moment I woke up.  When my ride came to pick me up, my mother’s last words to me were, “I love you. Take God first.  Don’t forget to say goodbye to your Grandma on the way out.”

Don’t forget to say goodbye to your Grandma…

It’s so hard…to say goodbye…to yesterday

My fear from the night before carried over so much, that I didn’t even go into my Grandmother’s room to say goodbye.  That day at school, I couldn’t focus on anything.  Normally, on the final day before Christmas vacation I would have been happy to enjoy the parties with my classmates and relief in knowing that the next few weeks would be without school.  But that strange feeling I had from the morning lingered throughout that day.  I knew I would never have a chance to see my Grandmother again.

After school, I usually stayed over my cousins house until my parent’s got off work.  That evening my sister came to pick me and I’ll never forget that entire scene.  She came into the house and whispered something into my cousin’s ear.  I instantly knew what was said without hearing a word.  The ride home was quiet.  No words were spoken.  But as well pulled up to our home I could see men carrying parts of my grandmother’s bed out to a moving van.  The first person that met me at the door was my father, and that’s when I was finally informed of the passing of my grandmother that morning.

I learned a valuable lesson from a very young age. Don’t hold grudges, speak to loved ones as often as possible, and never miss an opportunity to say hello or goodbye.

Sometimes the best way to deal with the death of a loved one is to confront it. If so inclined, comment your most painful loss below.