The First 365 Days of Missing You
How has it already been a year since you've been gone?
It's difficult to look back over the past year and think about all the times we didn't get to share together--birthdays, holidays, just-because days. It's a strange feeling to spend your whole life knowing and loving someone, and then processing the realization they are now gone. And you still know them and you still love them, but now it's different. Now instead of making new memories, it's reliving old ones so you don't forget the way they talked or the way they smiled.
For me, it is always summertime. That was my Nana's favorite time of the year. My oldest, but fondest memory, is the summer mornings she would take me to garage sales. My grandpa always gave me quarters in a ziplock bag, and my grandma would pack us snacks. We went all over town, hitting every single one so we wouldn't miss a single thing. My grandma would teach me how to bargain; "If the sticker says one dollar, offer 50 cents." And if they said no, she wouldn't let me get it. It's probably thanks to her that now I never buy anything unless it's on sale.
It was this summer that her death finally became real to me. It was the first summer in my life she wasn't at the lake to greet me every weekend. It was my first summer without a rummy partner (and she always kicked my butt). It was the first summer without her oversized snack bag of goldfish and twizzlers she would bring on the pontoon. It was the first summer without her nagging, "Stop cutting your hair! Keep it long and blonde, please." It was the first summer without root beer floats and reruns of House Hunters. It was the first summer without my favorite person.
Her absence is the emptiest thing I've ever felt. Moving on from it is a strange process of remembering and forgetting, and then remembering all over again. There are times it doesn't even feel like she's gone, and then times it feels all too real. Today is one of those days it is all too real.
The day that my Nana passed away, I stumbled across this passage:
Death is nothing at all. It does not count. I have only slipped away into the next room. Nothing has happened. Everything remains exactly as it was. I am I, and you are you. The old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged. Whatever we were to each other, that is what we still are. Call me by the old familiar name. Speak of me in the easy way which you always used to. Put no difference into your tone. Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed. Play, smile, think of me. Let my name be the word that it always was. Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it. Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was. There is an absolute and unbroken continuity. Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am but waiting for you, somewhere very near, just around the corner. All is well.
It's difficult to look back over the past year and think about all the times we didn't get to share together--birthdays, holidays, just-because days. It's a strange feeling to spend your whole life knowing and loving someone, and then processing the realization they are now gone. And you still know them and you still love them, but now it's different. Now instead of making new memories, it's reliving old ones so you don't forget the way they talked or the way they smiled.
For me, it is always summertime. That was my Nana's favorite time of the year. My oldest, but fondest memory, is the summer mornings she would take me to garage sales. My grandpa always gave me quarters in a ziplock bag, and my grandma would pack us snacks. We went all over town, hitting every single one so we wouldn't miss a single thing. My grandma would teach me how to bargain; "If the sticker says one dollar, offer 50 cents." And if they said no, she wouldn't let me get it. It's probably thanks to her that now I never buy anything unless it's on sale.
It was this summer that her death finally became real to me. It was the first summer in my life she wasn't at the lake to greet me every weekend. It was my first summer without a rummy partner (and she always kicked my butt). It was the first summer without her oversized snack bag of goldfish and twizzlers she would bring on the pontoon. It was the first summer without her nagging, "Stop cutting your hair! Keep it long and blonde, please." It was the first summer without root beer floats and reruns of House Hunters. It was the first summer without my favorite person.
Her absence is the emptiest thing I've ever felt. Moving on from it is a strange process of remembering and forgetting, and then remembering all over again. There are times it doesn't even feel like she's gone, and then times it feels all too real. Today is one of those days it is all too real.
The day that my Nana passed away, I stumbled across this passage:
Death is nothing at all. It does not count. I have only slipped away into the next room. Nothing has happened. Everything remains exactly as it was. I am I, and you are you. The old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged. Whatever we were to each other, that is what we still are. Call me by the old familiar name. Speak of me in the easy way which you always used to. Put no difference into your tone. Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed. Play, smile, think of me. Let my name be the word that it always was. Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it. Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was. There is an absolute and unbroken continuity. Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am but waiting for you, somewhere very near, just around the corner. All is well.
-Unknown
And it's true--she is only physically gone. I feel her presence often, and she is here with me always.
Missing someone never gets easier, you just start to get used to living your life honoring their memory. Not a day goes by that I don't think of my Nana, and I am so thankful of all the memories I have of her--memories I hope to share with my future children, and hopefully they share with theirs someday. She was a special kind of woman, one you don't easily forget. She was my biggest supporter and believed in me even when I didn't quite believe in myself. She was also never afraid to voice her opinion, which always made accepting the truth a little bit easier. She was the person I looked up to the most, and my biggest goal was always to grow into someone she could be proud of.
I like to think I reached that goal for her.
Nana--today I'm wishing we could have that just-because day, just because I'm missing you a whole lot.
Missing someone never gets easier, you just start to get used to living your life honoring their memory. Not a day goes by that I don't think of my Nana, and I am so thankful of all the memories I have of her--memories I hope to share with my future children, and hopefully they share with theirs someday. She was a special kind of woman, one you don't easily forget. She was my biggest supporter and believed in me even when I didn't quite believe in myself. She was also never afraid to voice her opinion, which always made accepting the truth a little bit easier. She was the person I looked up to the most, and my biggest goal was always to grow into someone she could be proud of.
I like to think I reached that goal for her.
Nana--today I'm wishing we could have that just-because day, just because I'm missing you a whole lot.
Mary Louise Altwies
December 8, 1943 - December 29, 2016
"When God took you back, he said, 'Hallelujah, you're home."
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