They were givers of hugs and holders of hands. When I was baby, when I became an adult.
One of the things that hit me hard after Grandma died was visiting her home and sitting on her couch and all I could think was how she would sit there next to me and hold my hand. If she was there. Which she wasn’t and wouldn’t ever be again.
And now, 4 years later, he’s gone, too.
I’m having waves of realization over how much of a constant, an anchor, they were in my life.
My other (adopted) grandparents have demonstrated a preference for their biological families. So, yeah, I don’t really feel bad for having a preference for my biological grandparents, thanks. The last time I saw the mother of my adopted father, she didn’t know who I was. Thanks for caring so much, grandmother.
Speaking of my adopted father, it becomes difficult to push away the hatred in my grief. He did so much behind the scenes to prevent me from spending time with my dad and his family. All those years, lost. Anger at my mother for letting her husband do that to me. Anger at my dad for leaving me and letting all those years of heartache invade my life. Anger at myself for choosing a life so far away and letting my adult years slip by so quickly, my life too full of debts and commitments to get away often enough.
Rage. Guilt. Sorrow. Grief.
Meanwhile, the world is exploding — not just with bombs and gunfire, but with fear, racism, reactionary diatribes, and more. Humanity just lost someone who loved people and gave back and it is difficult to see hope when it feels like everything beautiful is collapsing.
I know it isn’t. I see people embracing refugees with different skin and beliefs than them and I’m reminded that there’s always hope.
“There, peeping among the cloud-wrack above a dark tower high up in the mountains, Sam saw a white star twinkle for a while. The beauty of it smote his heart, as he looked up out of the forsaken land, and hope returned to him. For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach.”
– JRR Tolkien