Grief, Pt. 3 - The loss of a grandparent

I really do wish grandparents could live forever. 

In April 2016 I lost my Papa to cancer. This was just over a year after losing his daughter, my aunt. Now, I'm writing this just a few days after what would have been his 75th birthday. 

I remember the day my Granny called me to tell me about his diagnosis and how he was choosing to go without treatment. My heart broke, my eyes watered, my voice cracked but I listened and understood. I don't remember everything my Granny said to me during that phone call, but the jest was that my Papa was going to die soon. 

Over the years leading up to his diagnosis, my Papa had experienced several health issues and he was diabetic. He didn't like hospitals very much and I didn't really blame him. I understood why he wanted to enjoy whatever time he had left at home with my Granny. This experience I had with grief is quite different from the previous ones I've written about because unlike the others, I could see it coming. In my mind, I could prepare, y'know? 

But what does it look like to mentally and emotionally prepare for the loss of a loved one? I don't know. At that time, I lived a little over 4 hours away from my family I did my best to call my Granny and Papa more often than usual. For me, this was more than twice a week, but not much more than that. Because it was my first year at my first professional job out of undergrad and sometimes, I missed making that call. When those calls did happen, I did my best to shield my pre-grief from them but I'm sure Granny picked up on it, cuz Grannies always know. 

Later in March I had spring break and had planned to just go to New Orleans for a few days. With the recent news I decided to surprise granny and papa by taking a road trip to East St. Louis that weekend after returning from New Orleans. I didn't take that trip alone, my boyfriend at the time came along with me and this was the first time he was meeting my family members. It was a bittersweet weekend. This was the last weekend I saw my Papa alive. He didn't look like the person I'd known him to be in my twenty-two years of existence. All of him wasn't there and it was painful to see and experience. I remember him asking me something like "Tee, you married to that boy?" And of course, I said, "No, Papa, you know I wouldn't have gotten married without you there." But in that moment, I realized that when I did get married, he wouldn't be there. I enjoyed that weekend for what it was and will carry it in my heart forever. 

About a month later he died. I remember that phone call too. I was in a staff meeting and because it was an unusual time for my Granny to call, my heart dropped before I answered. When I answered I remember Granny saying, "Papa died this morning. " I don't remember what was said the rest of the conversation, but I know I went back to the staff meeting and pretended to be okay. I don't think I told anyone I worked with about the death of my Papa until I requested a bereavement day to go home for the funeral. Thinking back on it, I should've asked more about bereavement days and taken the full three days that I was allotted. 

I don't really remember allowing myself to cry for the loss of Papa until the funeral. Some part of me felt like I shouldn't cry because I knew it was coming. The suppression of my feelings is probably why my boyfriend and maternal grandfather had to walk me down the aisle when it was time to view Papa’s body one last time. I remember the day of his funeral so vividly. One thing about my family is we not gone where black to a funeral. For my uncle we wore blue, red for my aunt, and white for Papa. That morning we went to my grandparents’ house and everybody was there. My little cousins were there, and they were honestly the reason I kept it together. At that time, they were 5, 3 and 2 years old. Granny gave them biscuits with jelly, mind you they were wearing little white dresses. Somehow, I was responsible for watching them to make sure they didn't get dirty before the funeral. This was some of the joy in a sorrow filled day. 

The following morning, we drove back to Chicago and Aurora and I don't think the loss had really hit me yet. I was scheduled to work that day but chose to take one bereavement day (I really should've taken 3). Life seemed to go back to normal, except for when I called Granny, I knew there was no longer a chance of Papa answering the phone and saying "Heyyy Grasshoppa (his nickname for me), what ya know good?" I know that I'd no longer get to hear him say "Fair than a middlin" when I asked how he was doing. There would be no more sneaking the remote from his hand to change the TV only to have him wake himself from snoring and tell me to change it back. There'd be no more finger wagging at the youngins when they were doing something, they knew they shouldn't be doing. 

I'm writing this because in this moment, I'm not okay and that's okay. Since we've been in this pandemic, I've thought about Papa a lot. When I was taking regular walks, I would come across a cardinal bird multiple times during a walk or in a week. Each time I saw one, Papa came to mind. If you don't know, the symbolism behind seeing a cardinal is that it represents a loved one who's died. As much as it hurts that Papa isn't physically present with us, I can't help but be grateful that he's not living in this pandemic where he'd be at great risk. It's bittersweet. 

With the loss of my Papa, I learned that you no matter how hard you try, you can't really prepare for the grief that comes after a loss. You can see it coming clear as day and think you'll be okay, but the truth is initially, you won't be. Though with faith and a solid village, eventually, you will look up and you’ll be alright. This process is unavoidable, trust me, I know. 

I will leave you with a phrase Papa said to me more times than I can count, “Don’t ya know fat meat is greasy?”