Three Years

Last Saturday was my grandmother’s third death anniversary. Even though three years have gone by, I still miss her like crazy. I miss the big moments– her extravagant celebrations of birthdays, wedding anniversaries, Christmases, and all other occasions wherein she can cook mountains of food. I miss the little details– the sound of her laughter, her red moles because she is tisay, her ticklish feet. I miss her so much.

They say that time can heal the wounds. Yes, time did heal the hurt of losing her but it never erased the damage. She’s gone already. And as much as I want to have her back, this is the best for all of us. And I never really want to erase anything that happened even though it’s the most dreadful thing that has ever happened to my life.

I just wish that her passing away would have happened differently. I just wish that I was there in the hospital to take care of her, to talk to her for a few more moments before she was taken away.

But maybe me not having the chance to see her fragile body in a hospital bed was what was best. I wouldn’t have stopped myself from crying if I saw her like that. And she wouldn’t stomach that. She’d rather we smiled. But I can’t force a smile if put through that kind of situation.

My mind has ran through different scenarios but thinking about them all are already futile. It’s time I move forward and reminisce about the nice stuff. The happy and carefree moments with her. The times we play Bingo. The times when we lock ourselves in her room to watch soap operas. The teasing and her cooking. I could go on forever with the memories because I have tons of them, being with her for all of fifteen years.

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