The first year of Grief

A year ago today I lost my mother, father, best friend and mentor, 

I had Abuela's care package by the door to take to her, some more Ensure, blueberries and an hallaca.

Then at 7am, the phone rang to tell me she had passed away in her sleep in the early morning.

Just like that, she was gone and time stood still for me. One of my biggest fears had come to pass.

No words can articulate the pain and grief. They say are 5-stages-of-grief  and I wish it was that simple but it's not.
My stages have been the initial shock, pain, and sorrow with tsunamis of grief.
Tsunamis that leave me lying on the kitchen floor crying from the pain of her death.
She is gone is my only train of thought and the depth of her loss filets me like a fish. So I lay on the floor bleeding my pain and sorrow.
Not sure about time healing all wounds as much as a persons ability to adapt to the changes forced upon them.
Keeping busy helped buy some time for my grieving mind. I had to dismantle the life she had built, piece by piece, Learning more about her in the process and reminding myself of the caliber of the woman who raised me. The strength, tenacity, and bravery by which she lived her life was my crutch. It carried me through those times when all I could see is the image of her lying dead in her bed. That surreal moment when I looked around her room, at everything left behind. For she took nothing with her, not even her body.
For months Abuela had been preparing me for her death, trying to make me understand this how the world works. Telling me not to get sick on the nerves over her death because it's natural. People die and are born every day. Pero nothing can prepare you for death, not even if you see it coming.
It guts you regardless and you carry on, regardless.
The first holidays were horrible reminders of what we had lost and I know that from here on end, they always will be. Best to make peace with that now.

This was her place at the Thanksgiving meal.

My ofrenda for all Souls day with all her favorite things.
It is both comforting and painful at the same time.
Comforting because it reminds me that she is always with me.
Painful because it reminds that I won't ever see her again.

So I honor her by cooking the comida she taught me to make and keeping our traditions alive.
Passing the pearls of wisdom onto my daughters that she learned from her mother. This will keep her alive for generations to come.

Te extraño con toda mi alma Abuela, que en paz decanse.