Amar

I'm missing Amar a lot these days, and today it kind of all hit me. It does that some days, where it all just comes down at once and the tears can't stop even if they wanted to. But most days when I feel myself thinking about her too much, I hold myself back because I know what those tears are capable of and honestly, I just don't have the strength for that. Like today. For those readers who are wondering who this person is. She is my grandmother. Bernadette Murray. She was one of a kind. And I mean that in every way possible. But she wasn't your average 85 year old, kitchen baking, Christmas sweater making, white-haired, boring grandmother. She was a vibrant, red-head, fashionista, Banana Republic and Anne Taylor wearing grandmother. She had too many shoes for her own good, had a loving relationship with red-wine, black tea and a daily piece of an Entenmann's pastry. Before she got sick, she could run circles around you. The second you told her you liked something of hers, she'd take it off and insisted you have it. She spent her last years in a beautiful beach condo. She was youthful, and that's how I choose to remember her. But she smoked, and she was diagnosed with lung cancer that moved quickly. She died on November 14th, 2009 at 66 years old.

My parents divorced when I was 6 and my mom was left with 5 children all under the age of 8 with the youngest only an infant. Amar stepped in as our second parent. Of course I remember her around all the time, and I have countless memories of her from my childhood, but it wasn't until she started getting sick, that I began to piece together what that meant. From what my mom and family told me, I started to realize that she was our second parent. She and my mom co-parented. She was the one my mom went to when she needed parenting advice. They were a team and she was a huge part of me and my brothers' lives. Because of that, we had a very unique relationship with her, unlike any of my cousins. And when she started getting sick, I thought because I was one of the older grandchildren, it was affecting me more so than the others, but my brothers were dealing with the same pain too. We grew up with her in a way that no one else really did. I lost a type of parent that day. I lost my grandmother, my friend and the person who helped raise me, and to not have her around experiencing this journey with me is devastating. She was the one who made it possible for me to go to New Zealand two summers ago. When she was still alive, my destination was still Thailand. She was so worried about me going, but she agreed to it because she knew it's what I truly wanted to do, so she supported me, despite the many questions about my safety there. She clearly had something to do with the cancelling of that trip due to the violence in Bangkok and re-routing us to new Zealand. She had everything to do with me getting there, and I had a rough time knowing that I was going to come home and not have her there to tell her all about it. I think of her visiting my aunt in Morocco, when she was in The Peace Corps, and I just hope that she knows I'm here and that she is looking after my mother. Religion has really never been a huge part of me, but there are times that I do feel her around and know that she is looking out for our family. Her and Pop Bernie.

I know this is a post mostly for my family, but they all know I write better than I speak to get my feelings across. Going through this journey without this woman is heartbreaking and I guess all it took was one John Denver song today to get it out of me.