13 Years

I was 13 years old when I experienced my first loss. That night I lay, screaming into the floor, as I cried and cried and wished there was something I could do to bring her back. I wanted nothing more than to hear her voice one last time.

My grandma. My best friend. My biggest cheerleader. My first loss of many.

She died when I was just 13. I’m now 26 and have experienced more loss in my short life than I care to talk about. Sadly, it’s also all I care to talk about lately. Experiencing such loss has taken its toll on me and has consumed me. It’s all I think about. It’s all I talk about. Death. Dying. Mental and physical health. It’s too much for me.

It’s been 13 years since I lost the person closest to me, and not a day goes by that I don’t think about how different life would be today if she were still here.

Mummu would still be the only woman in Pappa’s life. There wouldn’t be as much hate felt from all of us toward him for remarrying so soon after Mummu’s death. Holidays would be easier. I’d still be spending time at the lake house. Aaron would’ve had the chance to get to know her. Josh would’ve been able to show off his beautiful bride, and I just know that she’d love Annie. I’d still have a beachfront to sit and drink on while I dip my toes in the sand and dance around a bit.

13 years ago, I lost my best friend and I had no idea how big of an impact this loss would have on me. I never knew that this loss would be the first of many. I never knew that 13 years later, I would be living “this” life and would be hurting this greatly.

In leaving, Mummu also gifted us all the strength needed to make it through many more hard times. I think that she knew that we needed her strength and spirit, even now 13 years later.