Last month my Hubby’s grandma passed away. For several days, I just felt numb. I took care of what needed to be done. I supported my mother-in-law and was just generally helpful.
But I felt guilty. I felt guilty because I wasn’t devastated. Sure, it hurt. Yes, I was going to miss her. But, no, I wasn’t prostrate on the floor grieving.
Then it hit me. Yes, I was grieving but I really was okay with her death.
I’d spent the last fifteen years as her granddaughter. Helping her. Loving her. Talking to her. Watching tv with her. She’d helped my kids with their homework. Scolded me for being hard on them (as only grandmas do). We’ve eaten dinner together frequently. We’ve talked about books, put puzzles together, and laughed.
Not grieving was okay because I didn’t have any regrets. I love her as I love the grandmothers I was born to and always will. I’ll miss her every day but I’m okay with the fact that it was time for her to go back to the man and the God she loves.
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