As I walked into the cold silent room, with the walls plainer than an old fashioned donut . I looked at her casket with her hands laid across her chest. Her skin looked as white as snow, but so peaceful. As my eyes adventured around the room, I noticed there was a circle of chairs in the corner of the room. That’s where my family and I sat motionless until the pastor started speaking. At that moment I started to remember all the memories with her, all the times she could of gave up on life but fought till the end. I wish I would've spent more time with her before she took her last breath. If I had only known that was going to be my last time seeing her. It feels like just yesterday she was looking outside the window watching the birds pecking furiously at the feeder. This is when reality set in and I could sense she was ready.
Every phone call was a memory jerker with family or friends trying to comfort me by these words that would not get out of my head.
“It’s going to get better.”
I didn’t understand why everyone kept telling me this because from my standpoint nothing was going to get better. After the funeral every trip to Detroit meant reopening memories I wanted to forget. I was eager to stay home instead of facing reality.
I didn’t get a choice.
As I entered the abandoned home my grandma left behind a waterfall of emotions went over me including my mom. Shortly after my family and I started going through all her belongings, putting them in bags and taking them to goodwill. Every item I picked up meant one step closer to selling her house. I wanted to leave everything just the way she left it like she was still alive. I miss her everyday that goes by but I wouldn't trade the memories for anything.