I don't think I've ever talked about this

There's something I've never talked to you guys about.
Actually, I've never talked to anyone about this. I guess I never thought to. I guess I didn't realize how much this effected me. I guess I thought I was ok. You'd think I would be, after twelve years. But the truth is. I'm not. And I don't think I ever will be. You never really "get over" something like this. I don't think you're ever really ok. You just move on. You just live. And it makes you who you are.
Thanksgiving day was a sad day for me. I was lonely. I wanted to be with my family like I'd always been. So I was reading my old posts on this blog, looking back on the good times. And someone asked me why I'm always living in the past.

Why do I cling to the good memories I have? 
Well. here's the answer.
Because when I was seven years old, my grandma died.

This year, I guess you could say I've been grieving Grandma.
the littlest things have triggered waves of lonesomeness. someone would say, "well, nobody's dead." and I'm suddenly super lonely for Grandma. sometimes I would want to rant at those people and explain what it's like to lose your grandma. I don't care that I was seven. I don't care that it was twelve years ago.It still hurts.
She was my grandma. And she wasn't there.
And even though I was young, I knew it. I felt the hole she left just as much as anyone else. From the outside it may have looked like life just went on for me. Like I just started saying "Grandpa's house" instead of "Grandpa and Grandma's" and I hardly noticed she was gone. But believe me. I noticed.
I realize now that I did hurt when Grandma went away. Even if I didn't know I did. I don't think I ever actually cried about it. I forced myself to a few times. But it wasn't till I was much older that I cried real tears, because my grandma wasn't around.

and for twelve years I acted like I was ok. Sure, it sucked. But I don't think I ever really thought about how losing grandma hurt me.
I knew it hurt Grandpa. I knew my mom was hurting. My aunts. My uncles. Even my siblings and cousins. I knew they were all hurting and I hurt with them. But I never let myself hurt for myself. I don't know why I do this. The same thing happened when my cousin and dear friend ran away. I knew she hurt her family. I knew she hurt my siblings. I knew she hurt my cousins. But it took me months to face the fact that she hurt me.
Why did it take twelve years for me to realize I had to grieve Grandma? I don't know. But this year, it hit me. I miss Grandma. I wish she was here. I wish she was here to talk to. I wish I had more memories of her.
When I was alone on Thanksgiving, wishing I was at Grandpa's house, I realized what I really was missing was when it was Grandpa and Grandma's house. When they were in the kitchen running around with their daughters, making us that amazing Thanksgiving dinner, while us kids lay on our bellies on the kitchen floor, coloring books and crayons all around. I don't know how they ever got that meal made without us kids there underfoot, but somehow they did.
That was what I was missing.
I was missing Grandma.
I know that this was all God's plan, even though it hurts.
This has made me who I am. Because of this, I've learned to enjoy the little things. And not just enjoy them. But remember them. Cling to them. Hold on to them, because memories are a gift from God.
I only have a few memories of Grandma, and most of them are from when she was sick and I was afraid of her. I wish I could go back and tell my younger self that I shouldn't try stay away from Grandma. To hug her more. To talk to her more. Because you'll only have her for seven years.
At the time, I was just a kid. I didn't realize that Grandma loved me. Oh, I knew she loved all us grandkids, she made that clear everyday. But I never stopped to think how Grandma loved me. Daminika. Maybe being an aunt now, and seeing my parents be grandparents is what made me think about it. Grandma loved me, on my own. Not just as one of many grandchildren, but as me.
And I loved her. But I don't remember ever telling her.

This is why I like to look back on days gone by. I wouldn't call that living in the past. I call it living. And loving my life. Losing Grandma may have made me more sentimental than the average person, I don't know. But that's not a bad thing.

is it?