One year full of grief, anger and sadness — 365 days of emotions I never knew my body could feel. Emotions that I, as a teenager, never expected to experience so soon in my life. Emotions I am still processing today, an entire year later.
On March 23, 2023, at 3 p.m., my grandma passed away. She was not in the comfort of her own home, but in pain, hooked up to several machines, in a bleak hospital room.
Unfortunately, I don’t remember much of the day she passed, other than the gloomy, rainy weather. There was a nonstop downpour when I arrived at the hospital that morning, as if the universe was weeping for me. The constant thought ran through my mind, and still slips into my mind occasionally: “Why her?”
Throughout my rocky childhood, my grandma was a safe haven for me — a figure of stability. She was my second mother, stepping into the role while my own worked excessively. As a single woman, my mother often struggled to find time to take me to school, afford the necessities I needed and was stretched thin emotionally. My grandma filled those gaps, always showing up for school events when my mother was too busy and spoiling me with Happy Meals after school. She always made me feel like a normal kid.
However, when I was around 6 years old, my grandma began slowing down.
First, my grandma had a heart attack that resulted in her needing four stents inserted into her heart’s arteries. Then, she had falls upon falls, whether it was in the kitchen cooking, while taking our family dog out or walking to her car. My grandma wasn’t able to go on walks with me around our neighborhood anymore. Her legs grew frail as a result of numerous health complications. I had to learn to enjoy telenovelas – she had to remain seated the majority of the day and found comfort in television. So, I found comfort in television with her.
As I grew older, so did she.
I saw her less, as my mother and I had moved out of my family home once I started high school. I had a brand new life in a different part of the city, leaving my grandma behind. I had new friends, new clothes and a new way of thinking, and she embraced it the few times I saw her. My grandma was supposed to keep embracing girlhood with me, but instead, was unable to watch me become a woman – just like her – passing away a few months shy of my 18th birthday.
The days prior to her death were a blur – I hardly remember them to this day. Later, I came to understand that it was a trauma response: dissociation. I “trauma-blocked” the entire situation as a defense mechanism to comfort my brain. Grief comes in many different variations. Some cry, others get enraged, but in my case, I completely shut down emotionally. It was my first time losing someone so close to me, and my brain had no idea how to react. I had never experienced something so emotionally traumatic in my life.
My emotional invulnerability is something I am not proud of – it has always affected my relationships and friendships. I tend to avoid talking to others about my emotions and comforting loved ones when they are upset. Instead, I bottle up my feelings and thoughts, grow uncomfortable at the sight of tears and choose to put on a tough facade.
This personal problem became especially prominent during my grandma’s passing. There would be countless nights where my mother was sobbing in my arms after each hospital visit, and it felt as if my skin was crawling with uncomfortability. I didn’t know how to comfort her; it felt foreign to me. All I could do was muster a sympathetic hug and gentle pat on the back when I knew my mother needed much more.
I wanted to go back to my room and pretend as if she was OK – as if I was OK. I didn’t want to confront the scary conversation pertaining to my emotions and I didn’t want people to know that I was hurting. I felt embarrassed to be openly sad, and I still do today.
It’s taken an entire year and some change to understand this faulty way of thinking. I’m still learning to this day. I’m learning to be a better friend, daughter and person. Emotional invulnerability is not something to be ashamed of, but instead it’s something to recognize and heal – it’s OK to not be OK. After truly understanding this powerful phrase, I’ve become the best version of myself.
In the span of a year, I have become one of the first on my grandma’s side of the family to pursue a college education. I have, with pride, become Editor-in-Chief and am an award-winning student journalist. None of those achievements she was here to see, all of which I achieved because she said I could.
Today marks one full year of grief, anger and sadness. But, it also represents a period of growth, healing and reflection. I’d like to think that my grandma is proud of me today, of the woman who I’ve become because of her. Her legacy lives on through me, and I’m proud to be a living memory of her for the world to continue to embrace.
