Remembering The Grandmother I Never Met

Image by RÜŞTÜ BOZKUŞ from Pixabay 

These past few months I have been thinking a lot about my paternal grandmother, whom I never met. She passed away 10 years ago this month from a sickness that was never identified.

She lived in a small pueblo in Guatemala with my grandfather (who just passed recently), right by the forest. The forest where they used to live when my dad, uncles, and aunts were very young. Where they grew up hunting for rabbits, picking wild mushrooms and herbs, and climbing trees for fun, or to eat their bearings. 

I remember my dad was sad and guilt stricken when he heard of her passing. She had been sick for a while, but it did not seem life-threatening. Perhaps he did not want to believe that it could be life threatening? He felt guilty for not having gone to see her before she died, and saw no point in going after she died. His brothers and sisters commented on his actions, and my dad felt more pain and guilt on top of his existing pain and guilt. I did not know how to be there for him, other than listen to him talk about her, and what he was feeling. I did not feel sadness. It's difficult to miss or grieve someone you never met. I did however felt a bit of disappointment for not having met her. (We did attempt to speak over the phone once but it was very difficult as she only spoke her dialect and knew no Spanish)

Eventually he flew to Guatemala to visit her grave. He learned that many people attended her funeral from all over the village, and other nearby villages. So many people knew her kind heart and paid their respects.

The only thing I have of her is a bag she sent to me with my dad when I was a teen. I've had that bag for about 20 years. I still use it as a book bag, and it continues to remind me of her every time I use it. 

One night I laid in bed and she popped into my head. I've never really thought about her in any way other than she was the grandmother who knew I existed and sent along a red bag for me. This night was different. 

I thought about the bag, and I thought about the small store she owned and named after me. I thought about the stories my dad told me about her. I saw her face, and felt warm inside. I felt the love that I feel as a mother- the unconditional love. I felt love and sadness at the same time. Sadness for never having met this kind and compassionate woman.

Then I felt them. I felt the tears fill my eyes, and then slide off my face and drip onto the pillow. That night I grieved the grandmother I never met. She loved me even though she never met me. She thought about me, and this night I thought about her like never before. I was enveloped with her love and embraced by her warmth. I reciprocate the love.

I feel immense gratitude for being able to feel as I do right now for a grandmother I never met. Since that night I have felt her presence every now and then. It makes me smile, and occasionally teary eyed. I realize that it's a little odd talking about feeling her presence when I was never in her presence- it's something I can't explain. I just feel something. 

I've heard people talk about a deceased loved one being a part of oneself, but I never understood it until now. I can feel her as a part of me, and in me I can feel her love for me, which in turn makes me feel love for myself. (If that makes sense). So, I will remember this whenever I am being too harsh on myself or feeling no love for myself. 

There IS love.

Is there someone you hold close to you or feel a part of you?