My grandmother, Nona, passed away in March from bladder cancer. When she was diagnosed, she made the decision not to undergo chemo or other types of treatment. And she never waivered from that decision.
Even though her death was not unexpected, it hit me much, much harder than I anticipated. There are still days when my grief is especially strong.
My birthday was one of those days.
My grandmother was never one for talking on the phone; all calls with her ended right around the 3-minute mark. You could be mid-sentence, and she'd say, "It was dear of you to call. Love you. Bye." And that was it. My family and I had a sort of unofficial contest to see who could keep her on the phone the longest. I hold the record of 4 minutes and 20 seconds. After one particularly brief conversation, I asked my parents if I should stop calling Nona. They assured me that she enjoyed the calls and mentioned to them how nice it was to hear from me.
Nona never called family members - we were always the ones to call her. The exception was birthdays. For as long as I can remember, she always, always called on my birthday and talked to me for exactly three minutes.
As I was getting dressed on Wednesday morning, it hit me out of the blue that this was the first time that I wouldn't be getting my birthday call from Nona. I sat down in the closet and had a good cry.
It's funny how when you lose someone you love, it's the little things you miss the most - like the annual phone call.
3 comments:
Know exactly what you mean. It will be 9 years tomorrow that my mum died, but it is the small things that triggers the memories, usually something to do with the children. Hugs, Jane
that three minute thing must be from when phone calls cost so much, my grandma used to do the same thing.
My grandmother, who was 96, will be gone 8 years next week. But she isn't really gone. I have her picture in front of me at my desk and in my room. I talk to her every day in my head. And sometimes out loud. :) I know part of her will always be with me. Until, as it says on her headstone, we meet again.
I'm sorry you miss your Nona. :(
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