Sleep is a curious thing, especially when insistent thoughts won’t let you close your eyes. It takes a bit of time for the mind to catch up with the heart, especially when it feels this heavy. You mean so much to so many of us, you always will, death does not change that. I have been trying to put into words what you mean to me – but no matter how my thoughts churn and my heart insists, it is too hard.
This has always been my way, awake, lingering until everyone else is asleep (as they are now). I need the quiet in order to hear my emotions. It has not sunken in yet, but I feel a heavy weight pressing down on my ribcage. There is also intermittent sorrow, but it comes over me in waves that pass too quickly for me to latch onto them – to process.
I try to remember, I try to summon the many memories I have, but something will not let me. Instead, the memories come to me as I sleep. When sleep finally finds me it is deep and heavy. I have nightmares, but they are unrelated and without connection to my memories of you. I see you between them, as if you’re reminding me to breathe.
Sometimes I barely notice when the words find their way onto the blank pages in front of me. Other times I have to force each one out. Tonight, they do not come easy. There is a part of me that wants to cry, even scream.
I think of everyone whose lives all began with you or were touched by yours. I think of my brothers, and my father, and his brothers, and my cousins. I think of my mother too, and my maternal grandparents. But most of all I think of my grandfather, your husband, my dad’s dad.
I am choosing to see all of the sorrow I am picking up as the true measure of how loved you are. It is difficult for me, to be around everyone. I get so overwhelmed. Yet I imagine we all find sleep with warm tears, heart in throat, and insistent thoughts.
We love you, Farmor, always.