My grandmother, Oma, as she was known, would have turned 96 yesterday. Instead of celebrating with breakfast at our favorite place and a delicious dessert, this year, I celebrated alone in front of a cold gravestone on a rainy day. It’s been 263 days since I lost my best friend, and while most days are hard, on her birthday, it felt as though time stood still.
Candidly, my grandmother didn’t love birthdays. She wasn’t the type to celebrate herself, and she thought the fuss I made around her birthday, especially, was a bit over the top. When she turned 90, I bought her a set of giant number balloons, which she not only thought were ridiculous, but also a waste of money. They floated adrift in her apartment for a week before she made me unceremoniously dispose of them. She would, however, let me take her out to one of the quaint brunch places we both loved, but insisted I not document the event. As the years went on and she slowed down, the birthday celebrations were toned down as well. During the last few years, when she was still living at home, she preferred we stay in, so I would bring a card and a dessert from a local bakery to celebrate. Later, when she transitioned to long-term care, the staff brought her balloons and hung signs in her room on her birthday, a gesture she not only disliked but also couldn’t fathom the reasoning behind anymore.
Now, as a grieving granddaughter, I celebrate her birthday in the only way I know how. I picked up flowers from Trader Joe’s, a store that held many memories for us from when I would take her out grocery shopping, and I bring them to her grave where I stand unsure of how to commemorate the day after her passing. Since there is no rulebook on how to grieve, I’ve made up my own rituals, which involved wearing one of her rings and placing my hand on the stone as I let the cold and wet March day wash away my tears. I know I will be back to the grave again soon, but each visit there feels far too short and too lonely.
They say time heals all wounds. And, on most days, I suppose that is true. But on days like these that are supposed to be celebratory, it feels especially hard. Through the tears and the pain, I’m choosing to find gratitude for an enduring relationship filled with support and friendship, and to celebrate a long life lived.
This is such a beautiful tribute to a wonderful woman who brought you up! This testament to her is from a loving granddaughter who was taught to love by her example. I know you are grieving her and yourself for her loss. Remember, a part of her is always with you💐
Thank you, Sue!