It's been over half a year since I've made an entry. I'm going to be honest and admit the reason for that is I'm afraid to put my feelings out there. I'm not a very open person; I'm very private in fact. Heart can attest to that I'm sure. As some of you already know, I lost my great-grandma on June 27th, at 2 am. She had just turned 80 on April 18th. I had just stayed the night at the hospital with her Tuesday night (the night before). She was her usual self, in entirety. She barked at the nurses, laughed with visitors, all throughout the day Wednesday. I wasn't there, but her brother, sister, and neice were. I had went to bed around 10 pm the night she passed away. My aunt (her daughter) called me at 11:30 and said I needed to come to the hospital right away; my grandma's blood pressure was 90/50 and her heart rate and breathing were declining. I got to the hospital just before midnight. I took her hand as soon as I got in the room, but she didn't have any grip. I could very faintly feel (at least, I thought I did) her hand trying to close, but it never moved visibly. She was so cold, where before she was as warm as any other person. She didn't have any teeth and her mouth was drooped to the right and open just a little. She wasn't responsive at all. The nurse that was in the room checked her heartbeat several times; every time it was so faint she could barely hear it. My uncle finally got there just before 2. Not five minutes after he got there, she passed away. After everyone else had gone to make phone calls and get some air, I went into the room to have a moment to myself.
She had on her white Elvis t-shirt; she adored Elvis. I tucked a strand of her hair back behind her ear and gave her a hug and kissed her on the forehead. She smelled just exactly the same. It was so jarring to smell the scent that I associated with as her, so much laughter and fire and fond memories, and yet she wasn't there. I left the room and didn't go back in. I left the hospital as soon as the funeral home director came. It was almost 5 am before got back home.
I was a pall bearer (or casket bearer) at the funeral. It was an honor I wasn't going to be left out of. We had a special kind of relationship. I'm only ten years younger than her youngest grandchild, which put me sort of in between generations. I'm the oldest great-grandchild; the second oldest is eight years younger than me. As such, I had the most time with her, and with her husband before he passed away when I was five. I was the only one of the greats that ever knew him. I practically lived with her all my life; if I wasn't at home, I was at her house. Quite frankly, I never wanted to leave; I put her before even my own mother. The truth of the matter was, I never really cared whether I saw any of my other relatives, except her. I took care of her when she was sick, did her housework for her when she wasn't able to any more, moved mountains to do anything I could for her. I was her rock, and she was mine. I talked to her about things I never, ever would even mention to anyone else. It was like we could read each others' hearts like a book. I called her every night, and even during the day. In the past year, I didn't live for myself; I lived for her. I would drop anything and go if she needed me, right then and there. It made me indescribably happy to see her happy. She didn't have much to live for the past few years. She was in a nursing home and hated it, but she couldn't take care of herself at home anymore. I took fire from both sides of the family for focusing on her so much throughout the years, most of all from my mother, but I never quit; I loved her too much and owed her too much not to. None of the rest of the family came to see her often at all, maybe once or twice a year, except for me and my aunt.
Now that she's gone, I'm lost. As I mentioned above, we were each others' rock, and now that she's gone, I feel like I'm drifting at sea. I don't have anyone else to turn to for the kind of support she gave me. My mom isn't the kind of person to be supportive like that, and my dad sure isn't. My aunt is far too judgmental and has her own slew of problems. I'm having to be supportive of myself right now, and I'm not up to the task at all. Not even work is distracting enough. I feel like I'm living in a fever dream. I just don't know what to do. Songs hold all new meaning now, and half of them I cry through. I help myself by helping others, but not even that is doing anything. Time only dulls the pain, but that's the only thing that can help I suppose. Thanks for reading this, whoever does. I needed to put this out there somewhere, and DM's my second home, so I'm giving it to you.