Starting a New Chapter

The trouble is, you think you have time.” – Buddha

A few weeks ago on a lonely Friday night I spent by myself in mine and my fiance’s apartment (readers-we have a lot of catching up to do!), I was suddenly inspired to start writing on this blog again and telling the story of what happened to my grandma.  Only a few days ago did I realize that it’s not necessarily what happened to her that matters with regard to my lack of writing (nor is it anything that you necessarily want to hear- there were some pretty gruesome aspects); it’s what she meant to me and how that turned into inspiration for writing.

My grandma passed away on April 4, 2015.  If you look at when my last post was published, it was only a week or so prior to that date, and in short that explains my lack of writing, and I do apologize for my absence since that time.

At that time, I was temporarily staying with my fiance’s (at this time he was still my boyfriend) Aunt and his grandma (which is a long story in itself of how we got to living there), and it was so nice because it felt like even if I wasn’t around my grandma as much as I would like, I still had Grandma Vera to help me along, although she wasn’t in the best of conditions, either.  It was so nice to have a grandma figure around, who could give wise advice and tell stories of when she was young.

We had been living there for less than two months when I got the phone call late Saturday night that awoke me from my place on the couch.  The world was suddenly less beautiful when I realized my Grandma was no longer around.  If I had been by myself at that time that I got the call, I don’t know what I would have done, and I am so so thankful that Daria and Grandma Vera were in the house (and shortly thereafter, Kyle).  My grandma was my world, and it kills me that she might not have known that.  Not only was she my world, but she was my inspiration.

I remember visiting her in the hospital with my aunt and uncle and even my Sunday School teacher from when I went to church with my grandparents twice a week during my summers growing up.  I had woken up early that Friday morning and drove three and a half hours just to see her, and even if I didn’t want to admit it at that time, I knew it would be the last time I’d see her in her body on this Earth.  After spending a few hours there, my aunt and uncle left the room so I could say everything that I wanted and needed to at that moment- just between the two of us.

I remember seeing her with a breathing tube from her mouth and her muscles twitching, but I knew she wasn’t there, and I knew she hadn’t been in her body for a few days.  I remember holding her hand and wishing she would just open her eyes, just like she did the Sunday prior when I woke her up from her nap on her notorious recliner.  But I knew this time she wasn’t going to open her eyes, no matter how much I wished for that to happen.

I remember saying how much I loved her, how much I needed her here, and how much everyone else needed her, especially my mom who was still heartbroken after losing both my uncle and my grandpa so close together.

People have often told me that I was her favorite, even out of her own children.  I spent every summer with her and my grandpa and she and I would always go to bingo, get our hair done together, go to the mall, go to the park, etc.  You name it, we probably did it.  With us being so close, everyone secretly hoped that once I came into the room and said hello and told her I missed her and loved her and needed her, she would open her eyes.  A part of me feels like I let them down when that didn’t happen.  But I think the reason she didn’t open her eyes again was because of what I had to tell her- the one thing she needed to hear, and how she needed to hear it from me.  At first I joked with her and told her she couldn’t leave until I started working for a newspaper in Pittsburgh so I could get her inside the Steelers locker room.  That had always been the joke between us- but I had every intention on making it happen.

But then I did the bravest thing I think I’ve ever done thus far in my lifetime.  While I stood there beside her, holding her clammy hand with one hand and pushing her matted hair back with my other, I said the one thing that needed to be said; the one thing that I think she needed to hear.  I told her I was selfish for wanting her to stay, because she wasn’t really living.  I told her that she was in so much pain, and she would continue to be for as long as she held on.  Then I told her that my Pappy, her sweetheart who she had been married to for sixty wonderful years, needed her too, probably more than we needed her here.  And that my uncle Rick, one of the sweetest and kindest men to walk this Earth, the youngest of her children, needed his mom.

The truth is, my grandma started going downhill when she lost her baby- my uncle was only 50 when he passed.  My grandpa passed in October of 2013, about a year and half after my uncle, and my grandma continuously started getting worse.  I never really knew how bad she had gotten until a few days ago when I looked back at my Facebook messages between my mom, my siblings and me and I saw that she was in and out of the hospital an outrageous amount over the last year she was alive.  It was clear to me then that she hadn’t really been living for quite some time- simply going through life day by day, always in pain and her heart always aching.  I know now that she is in the best place she can be.

The past few months that I’ve been silent, I’ve been grieving.  After she passed (and a week after, sweet Grandma Vera passed as well), I just couldn’t find the words to write.  Everything was so overwhelming and it felt like I had no time to process it.  In those two weeks, I lost all of my inspiration, because one of the few people who kept me inspired had left this Earth.

I may still be sad that my best friend isn’t here anymore, but I knew she would want me to stop being so sad and work toward fulfilling my dreams.  I hope to do that with her help even though she isn’t here anymore.  My Grandma was always my number one fan when it came to writing (and being a journalist in general), and even though I know she was proud of me, I hope to make her even more proud by following my dreams.  Not only am I going to use this inspiration to write random thoughts about every day life on this blog (and hopefully create a career out of blogging/writing); I’m also going to use her inspiration to create a story in her, Grandma Vera’s, and my Grandma King’s memory.  Whether it takes me five, ten or twenty years to finish, I promise there will be a novel in bookstores across the country that on the very first page leaves a dedication to my Grandma Haase, Grandma Vera, and my sweet sweet Grandma King who passed years ago but that I don’t go a day without thinking about, either.

So here’s to starting a new chapter, here’s to doing what I love most without holding myself back any longer, and here’s to the women who have been/will be my biggest inspirations.