114

The loss of a loved one is always a heavy subject. I often think about those dear to me that I've lost over the years, and it never fails to bring tears to my eyes. I can remember the day my first grandma died, it was in August 2001. I was already asleep because I was in summer school and I had class early the next day. The phone kept ringing off the hook, and finally around 1:00 AM my parents answered the phone. All I could hear were the slightly muffled screams and wails projecting through the walls that divide mine and my parents' room. I remember lying restlessly in bed debating on whether or not I should wobble out of bed (my left knee was out of order again) and yell at my parents to shut the hell up, because I'm trying to sleep. Then again I thought that maybe my dad's back was in pain, so I'll just suffer in silence. About an hour later I hear the footsteps of my parents creeping up the short hallway, and I quickly flip to my side and pretended to sleep. My dad quietly calls my name, followed by my mom's voice saying "nevermind, let her sleep! Just tell her in the morning!" After the door shuts I lie in bed wondering what is to be said in the morning. My hello kitty alarm clock blasts through my room at 6:00 am and continuously hit the snooze button. I turn the radio on so I won't fall back into a deep sleep. A knock at my door distracts me from my power nap, and the muffled voice of my dad tries to wake me. I tell him I'm awake and go back to sleep. Another knock and another "'Selle?" Annoyed I yell, "I'M AWAKE!!!" Through the door I hear, "can you open the door?" I limp out of bed and open the door. My dad instructs me to sit down and my mom stands at the door frame like a prison warden. My dad quietly says, "your grandma..." I shake my head, I wouldn't let him finish. He continues, "You grandma had an accident last night..." I ask if she's alright and my dad simply states, "No." He tells me that she had a aneurysm and died. I scream that he's lying and look at my mom. Another scream comes out, "YOU'RE LYING! NO! SHE'S NOT DEAD!" My dad simply holds me and tells me she's in heaven now. I was in so much denial that I continue to scream that they're lying. The moments after were somewhat of a blur; explaining my situation at the school so I could get out early, crying on my desk for a few minutes while dad talks to the principal, going to Josh's house and flying out the next day. The first moments in California was surreal. We were all sitting in my uncle's house praying the first night of the rosary, and the minute the prayers start the whole house breaks down into loud sobs and cries. I continue to sit on the couch crying to myself as family comes over to console me, family I haven't seen in years. Despite the fact that we all lived an hour away from each other at the most, petty issues are what broke us apart. I refuse to accept the fact that it took a tragedy to bring us back together. Photos are being passed around from the night before in the hospital room, photos of the moments before they pulled the plug on her life support. It felt wrong to see her lying in a vegetative state with tubes coming out of her. Photos of her surrounded by family members looking miserable. This isn't what she would have wanted. From that point on I vowed to remember her as she was, not the way she looked in her final moments. She died on August 9, 2001. This coming August will mark 9 years since she left us.

In my room hangs the program from her funeral with a prayer card of the saints from the funeral. As painful as it is to stare up at her smiling face on the program, it reminds me of the way she was. She was a simple woman who learned to make due with her situation. She didn't have much, but never complained as to why she was given this kind of life. She was a class act and was so charming that you couldn't help but love her from the moment you first met her. She loved her children and her grandchildren equally, she had so much love and affection to give. When she would come over for holidays, she would always stay for long periods of a time so she will not miss a birthday or anniversary. She was always here to take care of us, in some way she was like a second mother to my cousins and I. Her smile and infections laugh always rings through my head. I'll never forget the time my parents, grandma and I were on our way to the store and she would tell me stories about my dad, uncles, and aunties growing up. I'll always remember how a smile would creep on her face, and her laugh would ring out in the car when Aaliyah's "Are You that Somebody" came on the radio. She would always say "I love the sound of that baby laughing in the background!" I think the one thing I truly truly love about her is her refusal to give up. That's a trait that keeps me going. If she could make something out of, literally, nothing, then so can I.

Physically losing someone you love and care about is one of the most difficult tests one will experience many times in their life. In the end it's how you learn to keep going. Although they may physically be gone, they're always here in spirit. Think of them as the invisible friend you had growing up, only this time no one will think you're mentally crazy if you talk to them out loud. Despite the fact how much time you've spent with the person or how often you've spoken to them, just be glad that you've had the opportunity to have them in your life. In one way or another, they've made just as big of an impact on your life as you have theirs. It's painful now, and it will take years for this pain to heal. Sometimes it may not heal at all, but it's a matter of learning to function again. As long as you have great family and friends that will help you move on, you know you'll be alright. As depressing as funerals are, remember that it's a celebration of life. Instead of dwelling upon the person's final moments, tell stories about the person's life. That will turn pain into happiness and diminish the sorrow.