I didn't give someone flowers
There's an opening line in a new story I recently experienced in the game, Clair Obscur. Clair Obscur is a video game with a narrative about grief, and how we handle it as people. The character addresses her adoptive brother, "If you're going to give someone flowers, you should probably do it before they wither and die." It's a cool line for an opening to a video game, but the meaning behind it is muddied by the game's beautiful opening, and nestled and deeper into the game's story. I won't spoil the story if you haven't enjoyed it yet, but the impact of that line has really struck me today as I ponder the death of my grandmother.
Wow, what a shitty opening, and I'm going to further dig my hole by bringing back the classic: "I Digress..."
My grandmother died at 93 last year. She wanted to pass, she was tired of living, and there was no pain. I have to confess to the world that I failed to process her slow decline properly, or in a manner that I could say I am relieved.
I am a poor communicator. I am a people pleaser, and I will lie and hide to avoid social conflict or possible pain. I hid from my grandmother's decline, and I failed to give her the metaphorical flowers I know in my heart I wanted to give her because I didn't want to see her decline in person. This is a confession, in the hopes of holding myself to account toward myself and my children in some future date, because I feel a sense of guilt alongside my grief for this beautiful, wonderful person that was my grandmother.
I'm a bastard. I didn't call her when she was suffering dementia because I didn't want to listen to her failing to understand, or failing to be the person I knew her as from my past. I feel like I hurt her in not being there, and I never wanted to hurt her, but I am a god damned coward. The last conversation we had was a brief video call two months ago. ....TWO MONTHS AGO. Age and its slow decline terrified me in ways I have to speak of, even if it's to the Internet's void, because I cannot let this sin eat me alive any longer.
I interviewed her for two hours about her life about a year ago, and I cannot listen to her voice. I'm afraid, and I worry what emotions it would bring. I miss her, I love her, and now she is gone and I hadn't given her those flowers.