Commemorating My Grandma
Death has such a negative connotation. It’s not anything we would want to have happen to those we care about. But in dealing with such a serious and sad situation we must remember to celebrate rather than dwell on feelings of frustration, anger, and sadness. Although, such feelings are easier to whip out at tough times, and it may seem disrespectful to be celebrating death, it’s necessary for the scabbing of emotional wounds.
This past week, my grandma passed away gracefully. We knew it was bound to happen within the next month because of the cancer that was growing in her brain. After my dad called me with the news, I cried. It is sad to lose a person you’re used to having around, but I knew that this time it was better for her to go than to stay.
At first I wasn’t sure what to do. I didn’t want people to feel bad for me, so I just sat in my dorm hallway by myself until I decided to talk with my roommates. Some alone time is definitely needed, but I also learned that a support system is one of the most important things to have, especially when you’re away from home like me. Sure, people will feel bad, but it has given me a chance to get support, build bonds, and to talk about all the crazy things my grandma used to say and do.
For example, my grandma would make casseroles with pretty much anything she could scrounge up from the fridge and pantry. It didn’t matter if we were hungry—this was our dinner. And if I ever wanted a year’s intake of fiber, all I had to do was eat one bowl of her infamous fruit soup. Fair warning – it turns the house into a gas chamber.
And, of course, there’s the story I’ve probably heard at every Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner: While visiting The Alamo, my grandma was looking at a huge painting of Davy Crockett holding a rifle above his head by the barrel. He was on one side of the battle line, while the Mexicans were charging from the other. Suddenly she mutters, “Well, no wonder they lost…he’s holding the gun the wrong way.” In the most prominent of spots, in the most sacred place for Texans, my grandma made a joke. My dad and his brothers were unable to silence their outbursts of giggles.
To me, that’s how I imagine any memorial service should be like—one of laughing outbursts and happy remembrance.