Death

For as long as I could remember I’ve been preoccupied with death. I shared a bed with my grandmother up until my junior year of HS. On most nights I would put my hand over her chest to make sure she was still breathing. Other times I would silently cry myself to sleep after the thought of her passing away would cross my mind, I still do sometimes. I’ve only had these concerns with my grandma, never with my parents. Maybe it’s been her age, but as I’ve gotten to know her and asked her questions about her life I’ve realized it’s because she understands me the most. We seem to have the same fighting spirit, the same craving for independence and self sufficiency. 

Despite our differences she’s the only woman I believe can truly give me some solid advice, comfort, and support. In a lot of ways she’s my best friend, I don’t think I’m closer to anyone else. Losing her would mean not having a single soul who has experience life AND who understands my angst and confusion. I love my mother deeply but there’s very little I can confide in her with. It’s one of those things I have to work on. 

I’m 23 years old and for at least 18 of those years, I’ve had this preoccupation. And it’s only been about my grandmother, but now someone else has been added to the list…my boyfriend.