REMINDED OF GRANDMA

My heart shattered into a million and one pieces, like delicate glass crushed. It felt as if a razor-sharp knife had pierced the center of my chest, leaving me breathless and bleeding. I was literally in crazy land where the laws of reality no longer applied. The world around me slowed to a crawl, like a movie stuck in slow motion. Everything became a blur, I couldn't even focus. All I could hear was the deafening thud of my heartbeat and tingling sounds in my head, like a swarm of bees buzzing in my brain. Memories flooded my mind, a bittersweet nostalgia that only intensified the pain. I remembered Grandma's warm embrace and Larry's stinky jacket, which always made me laugh. I thought about Dad's chewy cookies and his rusty old van, with its rusty exterior and worn-out seats. I recalled the deep lines etched on his face, the sunken eyes that spoke of his own heartaches, and the taste of his cooking, which always seemed to carry a hint of sadness. I longed to ask my mom a thousand questions - why, when, how - but she was gone. She no longer smelled of olive oil and onions, the scent that always reminded me of her kitchen. She didn't give me a goodbye kiss or hug, didn't ask if I had eaten or if I was okay. She didn't whisper her love in my ear. And yet, despite this overwhelming grief, I found myself wondering - could I get used to this new reality?

I was lost in my own world, but before I knew it, Williams had guided me to a room. As I slumped into a plush, cream-colored armchair, I glanced around, taking in my surroundings, it took some minutes for me to find out that the room was a lounge, complete with a sleek, black marble bar, a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall, and floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a stunning view of the skyline. Williams shook his head, his eyes filled with a pitying gaze that made my skin crawl. I felt a surge of anger, resenting his sympathy, as if he thought I was some kind of charity case. "Just press the button if you need anything," he said, his voice soft and gentle, but grating on my nerves. He waited for my dismissal, his eyes lingering on me. "You can go..." I muttered, not even bothering to look up or find out which button he was talking about. I just wanted him to leave me alone. He nodded silently and turned to exit, closing the magnificent solid bronze door with 24K gold leaf detailing and precious stone inlays behind him as quietly as possible, the soft click echoing through the room.

No matter how I tried, I couldn't shake off the thoughts that kept haunting me. Where did all the love go? It didn't make any sense - I knew it was just a game of give and take, where you make a wish but ultimately lose? But yet I didn't expect something like that. If you think romeo and juliet were in love, you've probably not met my parents. When the pastor said "through thick and thin," they took it personal. But now, divorce? No, it couldn't be! The thought of being away from my mom was unbearable, and even the idea of being away from my dad, who I often butted heads with, was equally daunting. I tried to put on a brave face, telling myself I could handle it, but deep down, I was bluffing. The truth was, I couldn't imagine being away from either of them.

For some reason, it made me recall a certain period of our lives, when my mom became the hope that saved my dad from the abyss of depression. It was after Grandma's passing, when the grief seemed unbearable, and my dad's despair turned into a desperate attempt to escape. I remembered the chilling day he tried to take his own life, leaving me with a scar that would never fully heal. The thought still haunted me, making no sense, and that's why I tried so hard to avoid delving into the matter. Yet, the doubts lingered - could he have been responsible for Grandma's passing? The possibility seemed absurd; why would someone take a life and then try to end their own? But the "what ifs" persisted. I vividly remembered the day I stumbled upon him in the bathroom, popping pills like they were candy, his eyes sunken, and his face gaunt. My heart racing, I feared the worst, thinking I'd lose him forever. But then he looked at me, his eyes brimming with tears, and whispered, "Chester, my son, I won't give up and die. We'll build our own little world together, just you and me."

My mom became the driving force behind my dad's recovery, dragging him to therapy sessions, sitting beside him, holding his hand through the darkest moments. She wasn't afraid to show tough love either - a few well-placed slaps, a raised voice, and stern lectures helped jolt him back to reality. It was a long, arduous journey, but eventually, she convinced him to start taking antidepressants, not the usual, a special kind designed to prevent overdoses, which would only make him violently ill if taken in excess. My mom was our rock, our pillar of strength, and our hope. When my dad's alcoholism threatened to consume him, she intervened, refusing to let him drown in his own misery. She'd always say, "Good people don't drink away their problems, Chester. We may be struggling, but people with good faith find a way to overcome." But now, faced with the possibility of divorce!

The looming threat of my parents' divorce slammed me with a harsh realization - they had mastered the art of hiding pain, numbing it, and pretending it never existed. They had expertly trained me to do the same, but in doing so, they had failed to confront their own emotions. It dawned on me that they had treated Grandma's passing with the same emotional avoidance. They had never discussed their feelings about her death, never a vulnerable nine-year-old, how he coped with losing her. They never shared fond memories or looked at old pictures, cherishing the times we had with her. The silence was deafening. They never acknowledged that their depression stemmed from her passing, never confronted the grief that lingered beneath the surface. Instead, they buried her, along with the memories, and never looked back. Their fear of facing their own emotions, their own actions, had created a chasm of unspoken words.

I know you might think I'm obsessed with talking about my grandma, but the truth is, I miss her so intensely that it physically aches. I love her more than words can express, and I refuse to rush my grief. It's perfectly okay to indulge in memories of her sometimes - to dream about her warm smile, smell the familiar scent of her perfume on her old scarves, cry uncontrollably, or imagine her sitting right next to me, offering comfort and guidance. Let it all out, I say! Bang your head on the steering wheel in frustration - well if you have a car, if you don't, a chopping board will do! Scream at the top of your lungs, write poetry, or paint - do whatever it takes to release the emotions. It's okay to not be okay! Grief is a messy, tangled web, and I'm still navigating it. But I know this - my grandma may be gone, but her memory lives on in me, and I'll hold onto it for dear life.