People are always complaining about the things they don’t teach you in school. How to change the oil in your car. How to balance your checkbook. How to properly do a load of laundry.
You know what I wish they taught you in school? How to grieve.
I’m almost twenty-five years old and I still cannot tell you the proper answer to that question.
I understand that the grieving process is different for everyone. But, what I don’t understand, is how am I supposed to navigate that process? How am I supposes to wake up every morning and go through my day as if nothing is wrong?
Something that runs through my mind quite often is a conversation I had with a man, that I very much so respect, at my grandmother’s funeral. He cupped my face in his hands and said, “Morgan, I hope you know how much your grandmother loved you.”
I can’t seem to get this statement out of my mind. Like, ever. My grandmother and grandfather are dead. They will never again have a conversation with me, tell me they love me, or eat a meal with me again. I will never again be able to tell them that I appreciate them, admire them, or thank them- ever again.
This man wanted me to understand the love that she had for me, when I was questioning whether or not she knew the love I had for her. This is something, that I just can’t get out of my head.
My grandparents were two of the best people I knew.
My grandmother, was quite frankly, my best friend. My grandfather, was simply, one of my biggest fans. These two people were over-the-moon proud that I chose to wake up each morning and continue chasing my dreams.
There wasn’t a day that ended where I didn’t talk to my Mamaw Nette at some point. I remember losing a tennis tourney once, and she took me shopping to heighten my mood. She knew how much that tourney meant to me. Before the match began, she sent me a text saying, “you got this. You are MY granddaughter, and I am so proud of you.”
After the tourney, she knew exactly what would put a smile on my face. Shopping with my grandma, wasn’t necessarily about the “shopping” per say. It was the time I was able to spend with her, the laughs we would have, the jam sessions we would enjoy in the car.
My grandpa was at said tourney. He was at EVERY tourney, EVERY game, EVERY everything. When I walked off the court, it didn’t matter that I lost. What mattered was that I played the best I could, and he was so incredibly proud. Always. He was always proud of me no matter what.
If I could hear her laugh, just one more time. If I could hear him say, good game, just one more time. This is what they don’t teach you.
They don’t teach you about the anger you will feel, after they are gone. The anger you feel because they left you - all alone. The anger you feel... because they didn’t fight hard enough.
Every. Single. Day. I cross my fingers and hope that my grandparents know how much I loved them. And every single day I cross my fingers for just one more moment with them.
This. This is what they don’t teach you in school.
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