She's Gone

I still can't believe it, and I clutched when I typed that.

I haven't cried over Grandmother's death.  Maybe it's not yet, but I don't know if I have it in me.  I think it's because whenever I cried when I was young, my parents (and, I have to be honest, Grandmother) beat me even more.  And yet I feel as though if I don't cry I'm being totally disrespectful to her, and for what she did for me.  When I think of her that way, I get even more depressed.

But right now I'm empty, and I'm just so damn numb.  She's been out of the house for several years and out of the country for a few, but the thought that I no longer occupy Earth with Grandmother ... (sigh) ... I think about her now and again, but once my memory of her passes, I remind myself, "She's dead."  And it feels worse and worse every time I remind myself.  But ... I'm still empty and numb.

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It's time for all my friends to know, so I'm going to announce Grandmother's death on social media.  I'm writing it right now, and I don't know if it's going as it should.  It has quickly become an essay not about her life, but how I'm feeling with her gone, and that's totally self-centered.  But I don't know how else to deal with it.  If I can't talk about how Grandmother affected me, I don't think I can write about this at all, and so I won't be able to tell anyone that she passed.  So I have to write the way I need to write.

I still can't believe she's gone.