The Day of Celebration
The 4th of July has always been a big family day for us. It was one of my grandmother's favorite holidays. The city has a huge 4th of July celebration every year downtown. It overlooks the river. They block the streets, and people gather to watch the fireworks light up the sky.
My grandmother lived by the river, so every year we would pile up on her balcony with hamburgers, or BBQ, watermelon, and ice cream. We had a front-row seat for the celebration. Those are some of my fondest memories of the last few years of her life.
The Day of Grief
The day my grandmother died, it was almost July 4th. I remember when the nurse pronounced her time of death, and then the funeral home came to retrieve the body. They zipped the bag and wheeled her outside. I ran upstairs and stared out of the window. I watched as they loaded her into the back of the van.
For some reason, the man transporting her body to the funeral home left the lights on in the van while he was on the phone. I stood staring out of the window for what seemed to be a long period of time. I wanted to run outside and climb into the back of the van to comfort her.
It was the first time I could ever remember my grandmother being alone. Someone was always with her. Even before she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, she was always surrounded by family: kids, grandchildren, siblings, friends. She was just never alone.
Seeing her in that space was jarring.
Yes, I know she was gone. It was just a shell, but it felt as if she was still there.
When the light went out, I watched the car roll slowly away, and I followed it as far as I could see until it turned out of sight. After a few moments, I walked into my bedroom and sat alone at my desk.
It was so quiet and still. So much so that I was startled when I heard the fireworks going off outside. The sound of boom and crackle mixed with children’s laughter filtered through my open window.
I looked at the time. It was after midnight. Officially, July 4th, and some people were celebrating early.
I walked over to the window and watched the colors parade across the sky. I listened again to the children’s laughter and felt such a weird mix of emotions. On the one hand, I felt an explosion of grief and sorrow. On the other hand, I smiled at the sound of their giggles and screams.
My grandmother would have loved that sound.
Mixed Feelings
It’s been four years since that day, and each 4th of July brings a strange, complicated feeling of celebration and emotions that don’t quite fit the occasion.
Many holidays feel strained. No matter how much fun or how we celebrate the occasions, I am always acutely aware of my grandmother’s absence. Her absence is especially noticeable on this day every year.
Grief doesn’t always follow the rules of timing when it collides with special events and holidays.
I’m learning to hold space for both sorrow and gratitude at the same time. Sorrow because I miss her. Gratitude for the more than fifty years of celebrations we shared. Whenever I miss her, I am privileged to pull from the countless memories I have of her. I remind myself of her laughter, her joy, and her love that still surrounds me.
Another year has come and gone. Tomorrow, we will come together and celebrate again. I’ll listen to the laughter of the children, share a fond memory, and I’ll eat ice cream in her honor. I know that somewhere she’ll be watching the colors dance in the sky, and she’ll be smiling along with me.
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