I just got word last night that my grandmother passed away. We've been expecting it for a while, but it's still not fully hitting me.
Over the last two weeks, my mother has been taking care of her mother and the rest of my family has been at least marginally involved, whether taking care of her or just going to visit her before she died. I'm pretty much the only one who didn't.
At first I thought it was because I wasn't that close to her. I've been around her all my life, and I have many fond memories (and a few not-so-fond) of her, but she never made more than a cursory attempt to get to know me. I don't just mean my life and what I was doing with it, I mean that she really had no sense of my personality or who I was.
That made it easy to think "this is just her time." Now, one day later, I'm beginning to think that it's much deeper than that. I am starting to believe that I have serious issues with death.
When my grandmother on my father's side became terminally ill, I was visiting her every chance I got, because I loved her very much. I was sad when she passed, but it was a healthy kind of sad, because it was her time. I even regularly visited my father's father while he was in a nursing home, despite the fact that he had Alzheimer's and had no idea who I was. I was somewhat sad when he died. Still, like my grandmother, it was his time.
It wasn't until I experienced losing someone very close to me when it wasn't her time (which I won't go into, because I still can't think about her for long without crying) that I started to become very afraid of death.
I don't think I avoided my grandmother's last days because I didn't care about her that much. I think I avoided the whole situation because I'm so fucking afraid of losing people I love.
As if my residual childhood abandonment issues weren't enough.
Over the last two weeks, my mother has been taking care of her mother and the rest of my family has been at least marginally involved, whether taking care of her or just going to visit her before she died. I'm pretty much the only one who didn't.
At first I thought it was because I wasn't that close to her. I've been around her all my life, and I have many fond memories (and a few not-so-fond) of her, but she never made more than a cursory attempt to get to know me. I don't just mean my life and what I was doing with it, I mean that she really had no sense of my personality or who I was.
That made it easy to think "this is just her time." Now, one day later, I'm beginning to think that it's much deeper than that. I am starting to believe that I have serious issues with death.
When my grandmother on my father's side became terminally ill, I was visiting her every chance I got, because I loved her very much. I was sad when she passed, but it was a healthy kind of sad, because it was her time. I even regularly visited my father's father while he was in a nursing home, despite the fact that he had Alzheimer's and had no idea who I was. I was somewhat sad when he died. Still, like my grandmother, it was his time.
It wasn't until I experienced losing someone very close to me when it wasn't her time (which I won't go into, because I still can't think about her for long without crying) that I started to become very afraid of death.
I don't think I avoided my grandmother's last days because I didn't care about her that much. I think I avoided the whole situation because I'm so fucking afraid of losing people I love.
As if my residual childhood abandonment issues weren't enough.
VIEW 7 of 7 COMMENTS
keep in mind that i did used to live down there.
Dysfunctional, no way! Wait, "fun" is still in that word, so it's aight. How bad is yours?
Mine is so awesome that nobody has seen or heard from my mother in over a year. We've been able to establish she is in the state of Florida but the ONLY commentary that has been expressed is from Grandma, who is only concerned about how she (my mother) is supposed to know when she (Grandma) dies, and then on my dad's side (divorced 30 years ago; hatred still fresh), my aunt said "Good." And that's been IT. When my sister informed me she was missing she told me with all the passion of maybe like, lifting a toilet seat.
You!?