Please Forgive Me.

I remember where I was when the phone rang. Depression had rendered me useless and I sat plopped in the center of the couch, wrapped in my favorite blanket, staring idly at the TV. I can't remember what was on, but I'm sure it was nothing good. I had been waiting for this phone call... Dreading it is probably more accurate of a word, but I knew it was coming. I had been warned for months now to expect it, so when it rang and my mothers name popped up on the screen, I knew. Before answering my heart had already sank, the tears eagerly got in line behind my eyes waiting for their cue to fall, and with one breath, one syllable from my mothers lips, no other words were necessary. I knew what had happened. I knew she was gone. A feeling that I had never quite felt before filled my entire body. An overwhelming mixture of sadness and helplessness. "One more day..." kept repeating over and over in my mind which only added to the the helplessness, the uselessness. There were no more days, not now. I tried to recall what the last things I had said to her were. I wondered if she had even known I was there during my last visit. I silently spoke to her through the atmosphere whispering over and over again that I loved her and missed her already, but I was happy she was no longer in pain. After taking a second to cry uncontrollably, I gathered myself and called my then boyfriend. He too knew this was coming and only needed a, "You need to come home now," in order to know what had happened. He came home right away and I collapsed into his arms and cried. I felt like the tears would never stop. I suddenly understood that it was actually possible to cry for days because I had no intention of stopping. This was the day I lost my grandmother. The day that we had escaped a few times before and I had childishly hoped would never come.

My maternal grandmother, my Nana, was someone I was very close to, much like the rest of my mom's side of the family. We spent every holiday with her and would frequently visit. She was a huge part of my childhood and played babysitter (with the help of my aunt of course) every time my parents would go away. She was diagnosed with emphysema when she was in her 60's so I was accustomed to seeing her with inhalers, and later on in life with oxygen, but it was normal. Since she had a lung disease, when she got sick, she really got sick. I remember a few times when I was younger that my mom and aunt had to go down to Connecticut, where she was living at the time, to take care of her. I don't think they ever tried to insinuate the severity of those times, but I always picked up on it... Though she always ended up pulling through. She ended up moving closer to my mom and aunt which was nice for my sister and I because that meant we were able to see her more often. She attended every one of my functions she could and we would go to visit her on a regular basis. I think my favorite thing to do with her was to go to plays. I was lucky enough to see a few of them with her, JUST her. Those were my favorite times. I loved having all her attention. I loved her, and still do, with just about every fiber of my being.

But there is one thing that still plagues my brain, still haunts me to this day, and still pains me to think about or say. I've thought about this entry for years now and every time I go to write it I would delete everything because it's painful for me to admit... but here it is:

My Nana died on December 17, 2006. I was 20 and still very much in my own selfish world. I think I was about 19 when my mother sat me down to tell me that I was upsetting her. I was a little taken back by it. How could I be hurting her? I guess my cousin would call her on a pretty regular basis, something my sister and I did not do. My cousin lived in New Jersey and went to school in Pennsylvania so she did not get to see her as often as Ali and I did, so to make up for it she would call. I guess my grandmother started wondering why my sister and I didn't do the same thing. I started getting defensive. I used the excuse of "Well (my cousin) doesn't see her as often as we do, that's why she calls!" and "I'm really busy and have to work all the time!" My mother agreed, but suggested that we maybe start emailing her. I ended up talking to my sister about it and we decided that we would go and have lunch with her on a regular basis. We knew she would like that and we thought it was a great plan. But for some reason or another, we never got around to it. And when my grandmother got sick in October of 2006 THAT was the first thing to cross my mind. Why didn't we go? We should have gone.  Maybe it was the child in me, I foolishly thought that I would have more time, but this was it. She would not pull through this time.

I tried to visit as often as I could during her final months. That was quite possibly the hardest thing I have EVER had to do in my entire life. Watching someone dying is the most overwhelming thing to be a part of. I would hold her hand, tell her I loved her, but would have to frequently leave the room when it was too much to take. I would get out of earshot and cry. I still don't know if she knew I was there. I'm not sure she knew who I was if she did know someone was there, but I would do it all again if I had to.

My biggest fear is that she didn't know how much she meant to me. Just because I didn't call as often as I should did not EVER mean that I didn't love her. I don't think I showed her how much she meant to me. I can't believe how selfish I was, how completely wrapped up in myself I was, that I couldn't just take a few fucking weekends to go have lunch with her. I feel like the biggest, most worthless piece of shit for not doing it. I regret it as much as someone could ever regret something, and the fact that I can never take it back eats away at my brain.

I still talk to her as though somehow she can hear me, and I've told her through that way that I am sorry. I still tell her I love her when I feel the need. When I do something that I think she would be proud of I tell her that I wish she was there to see. I have no idea what the hell happens when you die, but I hope that if she can hear me, she's listening... Nana, I love you, I miss you and I'm so, so sorry for being selfish. Please forgive me.