Goodbye is the hardest word to say.

I'm not ready for her to leave this world, not ready to say goodbye, not ready to not be someone's grandchild. She is the last of her generation of parents. She has fought long and hard and done her best. I know this is her decision, but it's too soon. It will always be too soon.

When white light passes through a prism it is broken into an array of colors. When grief is filtered through an individual's perception of death, grief is broken into an array of emotions too many to name.

You can't know what this is like for me, no one can. Death is filtered through personal experiences, we all grieve in our own ways. Hold me and let me sob, need to feel safe. If only for this moment, I need to feel this pain.



Dear Winkleberry,

Some grandparents are part of a child’s life only fleetingly, there to buy presents and spoil them, or there only on special occasions and then gone with little or no communication, some are not present at all. You have been an integral part of every stage of my life, helping to raise me, to care for me, to comfort me and to teach me. You took care of my sister and me.

When our parents would leave town, you would play games with me when I was lonely; you undertook projects to make headbands and play the organ, and bake cookies at Christmas. You were willing to get dirty, to help pick “pomatoes” in the garden, to sit on the floor and play with us. You made sure we knew you love us and are proud of us.

Once you played baseball in your back yard on Calle de Rosa with an Oar and a tennis ball, another time you invited me over to look at slides and you made me a Peanut butter and Jelly sandwich. I felt like the most special person in the world because you took the time to spend time with me. I treasure all the memories of you I have.

I’ve known you for 19 years, you’ve been there to shape who I am in every way. It was from you I learned to go after what you want and not to give up until you get it, it was from you I learned to be strong, and it was from you I learned that just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean I’m any less capable. Thank you for everything you have taught me.

I love you very, very much. I want you to know that I will always love you. I understand that what you’re going through right now is exhausting, painful, and scary. I want you to know that even if I don’t agree with the decisions you make, I will respect them because I respect you. I understand that if you are tired you have every right to rest.

I don’t know what’s going to happen when you are gone, no one does. But I do know that I want you to know how much you will always mean to me, and that I love you very, very much. I’m proud of you for fighting as hard as you have in everything you’ve done, you’re amazing.

Thank you, for everything. Thank you Grandma Wink.

Love you.
Kate

The time for make-believe is over.

I suppose it’s sappy, trite, predictable, and very “emo” of me but I can’t help whining about how much it hurts to be without her. The summers are always a dry season: no real social happenings, never really busy, just sort of slow and sparse. But this is my last summer with her. After this summer she’s free to fly around the world and fall in love and make mistakes and forget about me. I just want this chance to have her to myself, to be content to sit next to her on her couch with her needy cat sprawled in our laps as we watch Cirque shows, or to watch her dance against the backdrop of the fire as I lie in the grass.

With her half a world away I realized that as much as I would like to replace her with something fleeting and superficial I won’t be able to fill that need for deep connection. I realized I love her, or rather I am in love, although I’m not sure she’s “with” me in this whole love thing.
Seeing her smile makes the world seem just a little easier to take, hearing her laugh puts me at ease. I value her opinion deeply, taking her thoughts and criticisms to heart. I love the thrill of when she challenges my opinions or ideas, picking them apart, cocking an eyebrow and gazing sternly at me as if to say “you can do better than this,” and I can. She makes me want to be better. Gives me reason to write. Pushes me to maintain my passion for life.

She is everything I never knew I wanted, unpredictably bounding into my life. She didn’t turn it upside down; she just rotated it 15 degrees: enough to throw me off balance and make it difficult to understand. And I know I’m awkward. I know I’m not what she wanted. I know I’m not what she expected or predicted when she meticulously planned her life. I know there’s nothing she can do. I just wish she could understand how much she’s done for me and how much I wish I could repay her.

I’ll never forget that the last time I saw my grandfather I forgot to tell him I loved him assuming I would see him later. Two days later I was informed that he passed away of a heart attack during the night. I never forgave myself for letting that opportunity slip through my fingers. Because of that, I spend my life hoping for the best and preparing for the worst. I can’t bear the thought of missing another chance and couldn’t bear it if I did miss that chance.

I can’t stay quiet. I can’t keep this to myself. I can’t pretend I don’t dream about her every night, think about every hour of every day, miss her when I don’t see her, wish she were with me, wish I could hear her voice again, wish I could smell her hair and hold her in my arms. I can’t pretend that I don’t Love her. Not the new fleeting, changing, sugar glass, puppy, pretend, lust version of love, no I mean the kind of love that is simultaneously earth shattering and as delicate as the wings of a humming bird.

I can’t pretend I don’t honestly feel this hollow ache in my breast. I can’t pretend I haven’t cried without her. I can’t pretend she hasn’t changed my life.

I miss you, Clara Bow.