Saying goodbye

How do you say goodbye to someone who you hardly feel you can remember? It's been a struggle this past week since my grandmother finally left us. The woman I'd known as Mom-mom had left us a long time earlier, to be replaced with a frail and confused old lady who struggled to place us. Mom-mom, or Grandma as she preferred, suffered with Alzheimer's for about 11 years. For a third of my life, she wasn't really herself. One of the most painful moments of my understanding this disease came two years ago, when we held our US wedding reception and Mom-mom couldn't be there. That was a harsh reminder of her reality. At times I found myself wishing for a merciful end, years before the time finally came. When a passing arrives that you've hoped for, when the person's departure hardly coincides with the moment you lost her, how do you patch together the words and feelings? There's a sense of relief and acceptance: for her and for all the wonderful family who's struggled through care-taking these last years. There's a terrible sadness that she's gone, a sadness that's been festering for years and can finally be released. And there's the horrible sense, surrounded by cousins telling stories of her that I'd never shared, that I should have better used the years we had. The most heart-wrenching part was Grandpa, that sweet old man, who's eyeing down his own final years, knowing that he'll be walking them alone from here on out. No one in the room could keep as a dry eye as he knelt beside Grandma's casket. I cannot imagine the strength it takes to say goodbye to the person with whom you raised 7 kids and shared over 60 years of married life. In times like these, I'm especially grateful for the amazing family that those two created. The band of cousins rallied together for a special-edition cousins campout, as we do, in honor of Grandma. At times like this, I am especially blessed to have such a big family to lean on.

We love you, Grandma. We always will.

Love you, Mom-mom.