Lately, my mom has been talking about my grandma dying. She says the words so effortlessly; “once Grandma passes away, I’ll have to take care of Meme.” Grandma is actually my great-grandma and Meme is my grandmother. They live next to each other and there isn’t a day that goes by that they aren’t together for at least ten minutes.
My mom is worried about how she is going to financially support Meme when it’s time to take over. Though I feel like this is a far off thought, I can’t stop thinking about how easily she speaks about death.
I can’t speak about death that way; the idea, the words, they just fall out of her mouth and I can’t even pretend to comprehend anything else that she says to me. I’m not scared of death; there’s no fear in death, but I’m scared of the people in my life dying. I’m terrified of the fact that one day my Grandma isn’t going to be a phone call away or that she won’t be a two-hour drive away. I’m scared of not being able to sit in her little dine-in and just talk to her over coffee. I’m scared of losing the wisest woman in my life.
I’m terrified of death for others, but not for myself. I know where I’m going and I even know where my Grandma is going, but it makes me sick to my stomach to think that one of these days…she may not be here.
