Constant Thread

There’s a piece of me that felt like a failure for not writing on the anniversary of my grandmother’s birthday (12/08). While, at times, I acknowledged that as a silly thought, I couldn’t help move that cloud of guilt that hung low over my head. 

I have celebrated Frieda every day by moving my body, one mile at a time.  I did feel guilty on the days that I’d “only” walk a mile instead of staying true to a “run” streak.  I realized over these past 1,462+ days that the method in which I move doesn’t matter.  What does matter is that this is one of my concerted efforts to keep her alive in my every day, as that one mile is always for her.

In the months leading up to her passing in January of 2019 (shit, I actually had to look up the date because I didn’t remember.  I feel guilty about that, too, as if my depth of grief is measured by the finer details of her last moments here.  Okay, so it was January 9, 2019.).  Let’s do this again. 

In the months leading up to her passing on January 9, 2019, I couldn’t bear to visit her any longer.  She didn’t remember me, or much of anything that happened in my lifetime.  At times, she looked at me with warmth, almost remembering who I was.  Oh gosh, so close…on the tip of her brain, I think those were the words that I used…until it was gone.   

I’ll never forget (until I do) the day she left.  And until I do, I’ll never forget the day I said my final good-bye.   

I often question why we’re here…why we can become so vulnerable to let others in – seeing pieces of ourselves we normally hold close – only for their eventual absence (no matter the means) to leave a hole that never fully repairs? 

I recently stumbled upon a podcast by Anderson Cooper called All There Is.  I can’t pull myself away from listening.  Through my tears, I have so many heart-hug moments, or I hang on to a great quote or piece of advice.  I realize and fully accept that it is so friggin okay to feel the way that I do, also realizing that my grief is forever.  It shifts shape, but it’s a constant thread now woven through the remainder of my life.

While Frieda no longer shuffles this earth with her sassy self, her bangles and sparkly tops, her bouffant hair and fancy combs, she is in me - the memories I keep and those that I retell.  I wouldn’t be the person I am, or meet the people I’ve met, or even LOST the people I so wanted to keep if my heart wasn’t open. 

I will keep going until those who strive to keep me alive pull the thread through.