After 5 days, I finally received a response from my old friends sister. It seemed fitting that it wouldve been yesterday, it was the 10th anniversary of the day my Grandma passed away. The night before was the last time I would see her. She had a major stroke, my dad called me on a Sunday night. I had been joking around with my son, my boyfriend, his sister on the couch, when I got the call that changed my life. I knew she couldn’t live forever, I knew it would happen. Needed to. Part of me prayed for it, part of me never wanted to lose her. That year her 93rd birthday wouldve been just days later. November 15th 1919, she’d be 103 this year.
I never properly mourned my Grandma for many reasons until I started healing after my breakdown. I was told that she was “only my Grandma” by my mom. When I asked if she thought she was watching over me she said something along the lines of, “Well, I’m sure she’s watching over her sons, your dad, your Uncle Bob. She loved them the most. They were her kids after all.” It made me feel like my pain was futile. I pushed it down. I was only her granddaughter after all.
And then there was the fact that she was old. Everyone that learned she passed away, “She had a good life. It was her time. You had so many good years with her.” I felt robbed. I had to watch her slowly and brutally fade away since I was 16 years old. The Grammy that used to cook me grilled cheese and fold my blankie has been long gone. Every time I saw her now for as long as I can remember as an adult, the pain I feel brings tears to my eyes that I have to fight until I leave her side because I love her so much and it’s so excruciating to watch her slowly die. But no one sees that pain. No one understands it. No one saw the day she mistook me for my sister when I decided to visit her on a whim. I left and drank until I couldn’t remember myself.
So finally, through my healing process I allowed myself to mourn the loss of my Grandma. Years later, even though she was older in age, it didn’t make it any less painful. I allowed myself to grieve, to wish I would’ve visited her more. To say the things I wish I would’ve said, which was mostly just “I love you” a thousand times more. I still mourn her because she showed me what unconditional love was, without her I would be lost. I wish I could also thank her for that. She gave me more than I even realized. Unfortunately, sometimes you can’t see all ways in which someone has shaped your life until they are forever removed from it.
I heard back from my old friends sister, “we moved twice in the past two years. I really don’t think anything you sent the girls was more than dollar store stuff anyways. Perhaps you gave your Grandma’s jewelry to someone else?” I ran upstairs and took a picture of what I have left, which looks similar to the one I saw her daughter wearing two years ago after I sent it while my mind was clearly breaking. “It looked similar to this, I remember seeing one of your daughters wearing it. It’s actually rhinestone jewelry from the 1940s and it means a lot to me.” She replied quickly, “Oh yes, I remember now, vaguely. I’ll look but I’m not sure if I still have this. If we knew it was your Grandma’s we never would’ve let you send it to the girls.” This part is irrelevant I know, but my old friend watched me put the packages together. He knew it was my Grandma’s. He didn’t question it whatsoever. In fact, while I was breaking down mentally, no one really questioned me or stopped me or made me question myself. They kind of went along with it which is one of the reasons why it went as far as it did. I didn’t have anyone to help. The harsh truth is it isn’t their responsibility. I have to help myself.
But I don’t acknowledge that part, at least she responded to me. She’s proved my point and what I thought along. She is genuinely a good person, my old friend on the other hand will only do something if there’s something in it for him. I had many old friends like this. That’s ok, I can identify that I don’t want friends like that anymore.
The point of this whole thing I think is that something that has been bothering me for two years, made me feel incredibly guilty, regretful, etc. Is something that this person could barely remember. I talked about sentimental value before, and it’s clear that this is a case of it. I was initially afraid to reach out because I didn’t want to take back something I had given. I was taught to have good morals. To not go back on my word. But I broke my own rule, and explained to her honestly why I had to. And her response kind of floored me, she hadn’t even thought about my Grandma’s jewelry since the day I gave it to them. It had been a distant memory for her, for me a lingering regret. I can’t expect her to have the same feelings towards those pieces of jewelry that I do. I don’t know why I even sent them in the first place. Like I said, I was thinking that maybe if I did I would finally experience love again. Maybe now I can say I have. But it’s just that I’ve put myself back together, it’s my own love I’ve felt. Surprisingly, it’s not bothering me as much now that I may not see the jewelry again. She might find it, she might not. I’m more happy that I had the courage to try. Just like I suspected.
The Girl Without A Face 