Moving On
Moving on is difficult; whether it be going to college or a new school, moving house, or moving on after a losing a person you love. Moving on doesn’t fit a binary. That’s one of the things that make moving on so difficult. You sometimes feel alone, because the way you move on isn’t necessarily the way others do.
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Last October, I lost my grandmother to 10-year battle against breast cancer. My days, in September and October, were filled with worry. I would wake up, brush my teeth, take a shower, eat breakfast, and go straight to my Grandmother’s room. Sometimes, she’d be too weak to talk to me, other times she’d be able to give me a hug or have the energy to take a shower. The times she’d be able to talk were the best. I’d come home from a tennis match, telling her I won, and she’d give me a high-five. She rarely had enough strength in her to talk, but those high-fives meant the world to me. Every day, I saw my grandmother’s strength go down. Eventually, the light her eyes held, dulled, her skin paled, and she became mostly skin and bones.
I remember sitting in room 232, waiting for my “Gender and Literature” class to start. Things had been going well that day; I received good grades on the tests I was handed back and I was done with the revisions on my main essay for the Common Application. As I was waiting for my last period class to start, I saw a missed call from my Mom. Seeing as I had 2 minutes before class started, I ducked out into the hall to call her back. As I walked towards the main doors, I saw my aunt. Filled with worry, I waited anxiously for Mom to pick up the phone. As Mom explained to me that it looked like it was my Grandmother’s time to go, I felt my breath getting knocked out of my chest. I ran into my class room, my head spinning. As I explained the situation to my best friend, I ran out of the room to pack my bag and leave with my Aunt. The hour drive home never seemed longer. As my Aunt and I reached home at 3:10, I ran into my Grandmother’s room and held her hand. On October 8th, at 3:13 PM, my Grandmother took her last breath as I told her I loved her.
There was a numbness that spread through my body that day. Though I knew my Grandmother was happy to have passed away (she often asked why God hadn’t taken her, yet), I couldn’t help but want her back. I wanted to continue my routine and go to her room to talk to her before I went to school. I wanted to drive to school and pretend that nothing was wrong. But, as my Dad drove me to school, I realized how much things had changed. The silence in the car was overwhelming; I had lost my Grandmother and my Dad had lost his Mom. The silent tears were streaming down my face, but by the time I got to school I had recollected myself, eager to act as though nothing had changed.
I was trying my best to move on with my life, I knew that my Grandmother didn’t want to suffer, but as I was explaining to my teachers why I didn’t do my homework I wasn’t able to stop the tears. I once again realized how much everything had changed. I no longer had my Grandmother, I would no longer have the high-fives or the slight squeezes of my hand.
Driving to school on the days that followed, something I once enjoyed, just seemed lonely. I would spend the hour long drive in a daze. Music blasting from the radio, usually about love and loss, made me sob as I drove down 133. Nothing was the same. There were days where I would sit in my room and just cry. I couldn’t seem to move on. The images of my Grandmothers’ casket being put into the furnace flashed before my eyes every time I tried to relax. Sleep didn’t come easy during the month that followed. I kept thinking about what could’ve been done differently. If I could go back 10 years, would things have been different? Could she have caught the tumor earlier?
For a long time, I didn’t think it was okay to move on. Wouldn’t moving on mean forgetting about her? Would it be okay to not feel the usual guilt when I don’t think about her? It wasn’t until a friend told me that, “it was okay to move on,” and that “…she’ll always be with me.” that I believed it. Moving on isn’t synonymous with forgetting, it took me seven months to realize that. Moving on, to me, means that you’re allowed to not be guilty if you don’t think of the person you lost. It means you can think about all the happy memories you shared without spiraling into sadness.
Moving on is difficult. It’s something only time can heal and sometimes we don’t have the patience to wait for time to heal, but it’s an important process everyone goes through.I've learned there's no actual way to move on. There was just something that clicked in place for me. I’ve finally started the process of moving on. I know it will take a long time, but I’m excited to let go of the guilt associated with thinking of my Grandmother.
I love you, Dadiamma, and I will never forget you.
