My roots and my seed.

Here I am laying in the bath, with my candles lit. My tea is in its mug. The door is open because Tally the cat likes to join me. My arms are over the edge of the bath because this entry is planning to be a very important one and I don’t want to drop my phone in the water mid way through.

There has been many thoughts in my head lately, and everytime I think about writing I always end up back to my daughter. And the first thought that comes into my mind, and so it has been for months…

I would follow you into the dark.

And it plays over and over again in my mind. Like the part of a song that you cannot quite shake. And it’s always about her. It’s always been about her. But there is nothing more than that phrase. It’s like a poem that doesn’t want to be finished. It doesn’t know where it’s going.

And then there was me, driving to visit my grandma in hospice on January 12. Then all these feelings came up, about how I don’t know anything about my grandma. How I never cared to ask, during our visits together. I took this for granted. I took my grandma for granted and I knew nothing about the history of her family and there was this hole in me. So I asked grandpa some questions and he filled in as much as he could, but it wasn’t enough. Because by the time we got to see grandma for our visit, she was not there. The dementia and cancer had taken over her body and the only thing she was interested in was her great granddaughter Sophia. Like they were both children, they were drawn to each other.

That’s something i just adore, when i see two young children together meeting for the first time. They might not be able to talk to one another but there is an understanding.

I feel that with my daughter. I feel like there is an understanding. Even though we don’t talk to one another, that we can’t talk to one another – there is something there.

So we said see you later to grandma on that day. We planned for our next visit a month later but the winds were bad and I didn’t want to risk the drive. I hoped that she would stay long enough for at least one more visit.

I have never been told to prepare to say goodbye to someone before. Its always been after the fact, and I’ve had to deal with them passing. How does one say goodbye? I don’t know.

On March 2nd we made the drive again. We expected grandma to be sitting in her chair in the dining area. She was not. She was in bed and the nurse said she was very tired. When we saw her she seemed closer to saying goodbye. She was hollowed and she stared at my boyfriend and then started to close her eyes. I sat beside her bed and nurses starting bringing in chairs for all of us. I had a feeling this meant it was almost time. I felt cheated. I felt so sad because I am a part of this lady and I don’t even know her. It’s too late to ask her questions. All the answers are going to pass with her. We talked to her and gave her kisses.

At the point we were leaving I said goodbye and kissed her on the forehead. All of a sudden she was trying to life her head up. So I moved back towards her and held her hand. Talked to her more. Then moments later said goodbye again. This scene repeated as each time she tried to lift her head. I was mad at myself for leaving. I felt like I should have stayed.

I told her that we would see her later. While I wasn’t sure of but I thought that saying it would make her stay. And be healthy again. Or reverse time. Something.

Monday night at work my uncle texted and said that it was almost time. They were called into the hospice. I wanted to leave work and run because I wanted to be there. But I wasn’t.

She held on for the night and my uncle messaged me in the morning and said she was hanging on. This felt like a sign to me so me and my brother arranged to meet at the hospital. I skipped class and I drove, my tank on empty not realizing what was happening. Somehow I managed to pull into a gas station and get gas and back on my way. I wanted to say goodbye. I was going to say goodbye to the woman that I didn’t take the time to get to know enough, but she is a part of me and I am a part of her.

I pulled into the parking lot and cracked a hard boiled egg and stuffed it in my mouth. So hungry. I missed lunch. It was now 1:00.

I walk up to the door and I buzz once. No answer. I buzz again. They answer and I tell them I’m here to see my grandma. I tell them her name. They buzz me in. A women is walking towards me at the second gate. I don’t know why because i know where grandmas room is.

She tells me. She passed around noon. She passed minutes after me and my brother were discussing coming to see her. He was pacing his house during the moments of her final breath and I was sitting in my car trying to figure out what was the right thing to do.

Everything was a blur. I told her I wanted and needed to say goodbye. The nurse told me that grandma had already been moved downstairs as they were told nobody else was coming to say goodbye. I was. I was coming to surprise her.

She told me she was in the morgue. I said I didn’t care. I needed to see her. We walked and we walked more. We went to a room with a fridge door and she asked if I really wanted to do this because it will be hard. I was not prepared.

Yes.

And I spent 10 minutes holding her hand there in that hallway. Crying bawling. Asking the nurse why she was still warm. Her hand was alive and so soft. And everything else was gone. She was like a statue.

The nurse brought me and my grandmas body into a prayer room and I spent more time with her. Touching her face. Tracing along her features. Holding her hand. Clutching her. Kissing her forehead. I couldn’t help but ask her over and over again.

Where did you go?

Crying. Uncontrollably because I cant quite believe that a life can just cease to exist. Where does it go? Where did she go?

How can I exist from a person and not know anything about them? Where did she go? Who was she? What were her dreams? Was she happy? Is she ok now?

I feel such a huge loss for not knowing anything about her, because shes on my bio-dads side of the family. But shes my grandma. And there is a piece of me in her, and a piece of her in me.

I will follow you into the dark is because I am in the dark. I don’t know so much about my own family and it feels like a vast emptiness. I am in the dark and maybe it’s just comfortable to me now.

The disconnect with my own blood has left my mind feeling all sorts of confusing thoughts. The permanence of death and the fragility of life. The importance of my family, my roots and my seed.