“How did it get so late so soon?” –Dr. Seuss
The last couple of posts were a bit reflective and deep and I thought it was time for something fun and summery. So I wrote a post about summer for today. But life can be messy and sometimes it doles out more truth than cake. And the only way I know to really process the tough things is to write about them.
My grandmother died unexpectedly yesterday. And when I say unexpectedly, I mean that her heart stopped and no one was prepared or had the chance to say goodbye. But I also mean in that way that can only ever be unexpected when a person you love dearly is suddenly no longer in the world.
She had been undergoing treatment for early stage cancer–to shrink a tumor that hadn’t spread but was at the time inoperable because of its size and location. My mom took five weeks off and went to stay with her while she battled to stay positive and strong, her mouth blistering, her body no longer obeying her commands. It was brutal, as chemo usually is. But through it all, it never occurred to any of us that she wouldn’t get the chance to fight, the chance to have that one tumor removed and go on with her life.
She found out about her cancer two months and one week ago. I spoke to her that day, from a hotel room in Chicago, thirty miles from her home in Downers Grove. I wanted to jump in a rental car and hug her and I asked her repeatedly to let me do so. But my grandmother handled it the way she handled so many things: with grace, and the assurance that she loved me very much “sweet girl,” but needed to be alone and didn’t want to be seen in her current state, already forty pounds lighter.
“Next time,” she said. Next time was to be in September when I joined my mom to help her through the surgery….
When I think of my grandmother, I think of: pages of lined yellow paper scrawled with black ink, the smell of yucca flowers, her love of “heavy” trinkets, her soft hands and tall stature, her lilting laugh, her penchant for off colors like rust and pale green. And her expressive eyes, like miniature glacial lakes.
But most of all I think of love. The kind of love that doesn’t grasp too tightly but revels in freedom and joy.
When my mom phoned my grandma seven years ago to tell her about my crazy plan to move to Canada to spend time with a boy I’d met in Europe, her response was: “Oh, what a great adventure!”
And that was how she approached all of life: open hands, open heart. She taught my mother to hold on loosely. She taught me the same. Love, she felt, shouldn’t come with selfish expectations but be given freely, again and again, wherever we landed in the world.
When I spoke with her a few days ago, it was hard to imagine she was sick. Her voice, smooth and reassuring, a mixture of green grass and bells, sounded as it always did. I could not imagine the thin, blistered woman on the other side. She was, as she had always been for me, tall, beautiful, the bright light in the room.
We talked about the trip I’ll be taking to Italy next week to attend the wedding of a dear friend. We spoke of travel and adventure and one of the last things she said to me was, “Call me when you get back and tell me all about it.”
“Of course I will,” I replied.
I always imagined a string of unhurried days where I could ask her all of the little questions I had about her life. She would fill me in on the bits that weren’t in those yellow-lined letters she sent me or the photo albums we pored over last time I stayed at her house. She would tell me the ‘juicy stuff.’ Like why she really changed her name from Sarah to Sally.
But, as Jack Kornfield so eloquently wrote,
The trouble is that we think we have time.
Regret is perhaps the most potent ingredient in grief. And for me, it is only tempered by the fact that I wrote her a letter last year, before she was sick, telling her how much she meant to me and what she had taught me about family and love.
Maybe I knew it was getting late. Maybe I knew the time would not be endless. But, I am, and always will be, glad I said those things.
If there is a lesson in death (and I’m sure there are many), the only one I can see clearly is this: love big and let it be known. Say the things you feel. Because it’s all too short.
Last night, I stood on an outlook above the bay, thinking about my grandmother, trying to convince myself she was gone. Nearby, a saxophonist was playing a sad, slow version of the “Pink Panther.” The sun, a bright glowing ball, slid effortlessly behind the mountains. And just like that, it was late. The sun was gone.
Oh Rian, I am so sorry. It sounds like she was truly a wonderful, strong woman, and you write of her so well. I’m sending you thoughts of strength and peace.
Thank you, Erica. I really appreciate that.
What a touching post, Rian. I have only met Sally once at your wedding but have thought of her on several occasions thereafter. Speaking with her that one afternoon made a huge impact on my outlook. Not knowing her at all, except for that brief moment in time, Sally stood out to me as a truly all-around beautiful person in every sense. I hope that you will find some comfort from being surrounded by your friends in your upcoming travel. I love you and wish you all the good that life has to offer. -Stephanie
I’m really glad you had the chance to meet her, Stephanie. And I’m touched that she had such an impact on you. She was an amazing person and I miss her so much. Thank you for your words of love and support.
Oh, Rian, my mother died that suddenly, too. And what I can tell you, from my more advanced age, is that you will someday know what a mixed blessing this may have been. Meanwhile, explore the depths and edges of the hole she has left. Your gratitude is a wonderful start. Memories are truly the only legacy we leave one another. What a blessing you have the ones you do… use them as your rosary for a while. They will comfort you like nothing else.
I’m sorry to hear of your loss, Sue. I appreciate your perspective and support. Memories as a rosary, that’s a beautiful thought and one I will pass on to my mom. Thanks.
You are so right – it is all too short. I am so sorry to read about the loss of your grandmother. It sounds like she was an amazing person. Sending hope and hugs.
When we acknowledge that we are blessed by the presence of another it enriches both of our lives. I’m glad you were able to send the letter to your Grandmother and let her know what she meant to you. So often we think of things we’d like to do or say, and then time takes those opportunities away.
Hugs to you.
Wow. I love your grandmother, and I never even met her. What a blessing she was. And what a blessing you gave her, in this beautiful piece. My condolences. What a loss.
Thank you for this.
“Love big and let it be known.” Simple, elegant, and as perfect as six words strung together can be. I am so, so sorry for your loss, Rian. There is nothing that can be said to relieve the pain of grief, but this was an utterly beautiful post and I think she would have loved it and loved you all the more for writing it. Stay strong, my friend.
<3
So sorry to hear about your loss.
Dear Rian,
I stumbled upon your beautiful blog just a few days ago, while seeking for inspiration to begin my own blog. I found your writing so beautiful and sincere, that I subscribed to it immediately. By the way, it’s the only blog I’m subscribed to at this time. And yes, your post has moved me… My grandmother was the backbone of my family. Although she passed away many years ago, she is still in my heart. I feel very sorry for your loss and I’m sure she’s very proud of you… You sound like a beautiful person!!
Thank you for subscribing and for sharing your story. Things will get a bit lighter around here, one day soon. In the meantime, best of luck as you start on your blogging adventure. Have fun.
Grandma was one of a kind; all at once soft and fierce about her love of family and friends.
The beautiful heart shaped pin, one of many special gifts you gave to her, sits on a dresser in her bedroom where she glanced at it now and again. This was how grandma surrounded herself with family as she “held on loosely”.
Thank you for your beautiful words about Grandma, she will always be the best part of me and I see her in you sweet girl, more and more each day.
And you are the best part of me. I’d say she did a pretty good job <3
Dear Rian,
Thank you for sharing such an intimate and touching story! I recently lost my beautiful Grandmother. She was ninety-nine and still completely living on her own and independent. Her wisdom and faith got me through losing my father unexpectedly.
I am sure your grandmother was so proud of you and loved you deeply. I hope that comforts you when you mourn her loss.
My grandmother, Elizabeth, bid farewell suddenly as well. I never did write a letter to her, I always felt there was time. As a kid and young adult, all I saw was an endless quiet life-highway beckoning me. I don’t know why death is a surprise, as it’s the only thing known without a shadow of doubt to be a fate we all live into. This is very touching; this extension of love for your grandmother, the same love will carry you through this. Love is stronger than death and transcends space and time. My daughter spends half her week with her father, to lessen the impact of not being together I told her, “I’m always with you, for you carry me in your heart as I carry you. Love, little one, we’re always together in love”. It’s true for you and Sally, Rian. You’re always connected in the big beautiful love you share. Sending you warm thoughts, for even if the sun has set, it’s still shining brightly on the other side, the moon a reflection of a truth that will never wane.
That’s a beautiful sentiment, Kristy. I’ve been wearing a big silver heart my grandmother gave me for the past couple of days. It helps me to feel closer to her. It’s true that once people are physically gone they still leave a lot of love behind. And that can feed you indefinitely, if you let it. She will also become a part of my strength going forward. And for that, I am grateful.
I’m not sure why death is always such a surprise, but I don’t think there’s any way around that. You can prepare and prepare (as we did with my grandather) but there’s a different quality to the air when someone you loved deeply is no longer there.
Thanks for sharing with me, Kristy. It really helps.
As one of your blog readers, I just want to let you know how sorry I feel for your loss, Rian. I am living across the globe, on the other side of the hemisphere, from my family. After reading your post, it really gripped me how unthinkable time can just blindside us; it made me contemplate why we have to be brave to shout back: “I love you, too” or “I’ll miss you”, or even just to just return an affectionate hug. I have been intermittently thinking the unthinkable as I am living days of flight away from them; it’s scary not to be able to tend to the people who have always loved you so much at their last minute. Enough about me. All in all, it’s difficult to swallow everything right now, but I hope you get better and better day by day. And god bless your lovely grandmother =). ~Vong
I really feel for you. My husband is in the same situation: 20+ hours from home, and it’s scary to think about bridging that distance in an emergency. And also sad that we can’t see his family way more often than we currently do. Technology makes it a bit easier though, now that there are so many ways to share photos and skype and say hello. But still, it’s tough. Thanks for your thoughtful words.
Now we all love Sally too Rian, and that is a wonderful thing to have done. My deepest sympathies to you and your family.
Thank you for those perfect words.
Oh my! I don’t even know your grandma or you and I bawled when reading this. So beautiful. What a tribute. She sounds like an incredible soul.
Your commiseration helps me feel a bit stronger. So thanks for that.
This is so, so beautiful. A true eulogy for your grandmother. My grandma died about two months ago, and it still feels like yesterday. But it gets easier. <3
I’m so sorry to hear about your grandma. Thanks for the words of support. Right back at you.
Those were great words…love big and let it be known.
I’m so sorry for your loss!
I just want to say thank you to all of you who read and/or comment here for making this a space where I can share something so personal. Your words of support are like a buoy, and I appreciate your kindness and commiseration more than you can know, as does my family. My grandmother would have been honored to know you think so well of her. You guys are the best.
So sorry for your loss, Rian. I was very close to my grandparents as well. There’s nothing quite like the love of a grandparent. I do love the images you shared of her (both in your words and the photos). I hope this post gives you comfort and peace. Most importantly, I love your words “love big and let it be known.” So beautiful. I’m sending peace and love your way.
Oh no I am so sorry I commented on the wrong post, that is so embarrassing.. I just read this post now and feel even more embarrassed. I’m so sorry for your loss – I lost my grandmother a couple of years ago and it was so tough as she was the most amazing person on earth and totally irreplaceable. Your grandmother sounds just like mine – very beautiful words, God bless and stay strong x
No worries, Olivia. I figured as much :) Thank you for the kind words & take care.
Your grandma sounds like a wonderful lady! I’m so sorry for your sudden loss. It’s the worst feeling to have all those lose ends and unsaid words that will now be there forever (or until your are reunited). We had the same pain when my husband’s brother passed. It takes a lot of time to heal, and a lot of grace for yourself. You are so right about saying what you need to say this minute–because that’s all we have for sure. That’s a beautiful message that we can only learn from situations like this. Big hugs to you, Rian. Much love, Tobi
Thank you so much, Tobi. You always say the best things.
Rian, even though I didn’t know your Grandma or you, I felt a bit strange, perhaps a little sad, while reading this.. You have portrayed a beautiful picture of your grandma with your words.. So sorry for your sudden loss.. and indeed we should love big and let it show!..
Thanks for the reminder of how short life is..
Farro.
I’m sorry for your loss. It sounds like you had a wonderful relationship with her
That was so beautiful. I just love the way you write. Tears.
I’m so sorry for your loss and for your grandmother’s pain. Take each day as it comes and treasure the memories she left you with. What a blessing to have such a loving grandmother in your life.
Incredible. Your grandmother. Her life. What she gave to you. How that became part of you. And, how you write about it. We should all have a love that big. She’s a beautiful soul – the world is better for having her as one of us. All the best as you begin the missing.
This warmed my heart, and sorry for your loss. Thank you for sharing it. I want to someday be that kind of grandmother to my grand kids and I’m working on it now even though I have a long way to go.
This is so beautiful, what an amazing lady! I’m so sorry for your loss.
Laura xo
Rian, what a beautiful tribute to your grandmother. I love her motto, “Love, she felt, shouldn’t come with selfish expectations but be given freely, again and again, wherever we landed in the world.” My thoughts are with you and your family.
This is such a beautiful post Rian. It’s my first visit to your blog and I’ve spent the past half an hour reading your archives. You’re such a brave, strong, authentic, beautiful and vulnerable woman. Huge respect for your journey, the risks you’ve taken and your insight into each step along the way. Sally sounds like an amazing woman. I’m sorry that her last stage of life had to be tarnished by chemotherapy. I had to watch my mother go through chemo a couple of years ago and it’s something that I wouldn’t wish upon anyone. Thank you for sharing these moments, these thoughts and feelings with us. I feel privileged to have ‘met’ Sally, and to have been introduced to you in a literary sense. Following you from now on xx
I am so sorry for your loss. I no longer have any grandparents. I live in the house of the final one to pass. It does me good, at times, to see her things hanging on the walls. She isn’t gone, just missed.
Scott
Beautiful post:) There never seems to be enough time to spend with your greatest someones, especially when there is miles between you, so I treasure the phone conversations and the FB messages and always tell my greatest someones just how much I LOVE THEM!!! All my grandmas are my angels and have a special place in my heart, so I have them with me every day:) Be Blessed My Friend!
The best memories of my life are of my grandma. It sounds like some of yours are too:)
I’ve gotten back to your blog since Google Reader was eradicated… and I’m glad I did. I unexpectedly lost my 84-year-old grandfather in June 2012 (hard to believe it’s already been a year and a half) and it really threw me into a spiral of grief. He was the first close family member I lost, and I really wanted to know more about his time in the Korean War, and what life was like for him and my grandma years ago. In the time since you posted this, I pray you’ve found peace in this situation. Of course we wish they were still here with us, but isn’t such a blessing to have had such beautiful people in our lives?
I am so sorry to hear about your loss! A mother is such an important role model and friend in a girl’s live. From reading your post, your mother sounded like such an amazing woman. How you write is so sincere and touching she must have been so proud of you! You are very inspiring thank you for sharing this with all of us. I am sure that by doing this you have helped so many others experiencing similar situations. I wish you and your family the very best in this hard time!