I Don't Want 2020 To Be Over

Hello.

I've been debating this post for months. This year has been, without question the hardest thing I've gone through, and most of that has happened off-line. For those who know me, you've seen that I moved to London and that's about all I've publicly shared. 

What I haven't talked about is the enormous and unexpected loss that my family endured this year. In July my great-grandmother (my Oma) died, followed by my great-grandfather (my Opa's) death in August, and in November my great-grandmother (Gaga) also died. I don't want this year to be over because I don't want to move past this year that had my grandparents in it. 

I know there are countless other families that are experiencing similar feelings of grief and loss and it is my hope that this post doesn't add to that. I find writing to be therapeutic, and I think I'm at the point in my journey of grief that I can talk about my grandparents with love and not the overwhelming sadness I've been feeling. At the same time, I'm not ready to share their photos, so instead I'm including two poems that have helped me the most in expressing my grief. 

Since 2015 I have spoken to my Oma every Sunday. No matter what either of us were doing we spoke once a week. I heard the same stories countless times over the years, but I also learned so much about how she showed her love for others. Oma always checked the weather where her family lived and no matter what we were talking about I was sure to be asked about the forecast. It seems so small, but looking back on that simple action makes me feel so cared for. I don't remember the exact words we spoke to each other in our last conversation, but I remember her being so excited that I was coming to school. She was full of questions about what it would be like to be in London, I didn't have the answers then and I would give anything to be able to answer those questions now and hear her stories of her trips to London. 

My Opa didn't talk much on the phone, but he was always always present with you in conversation. He told the best stories and asked the best questions. When he found out that I wanted to study International Relations, every visit ended with the gift of The Economist and a discussion of GDP. He loved to tell me what language I should learn next and was always clipping stories out of the newspaper. I'd like to think that's why I read the news every morning-that I'm mimicking a habit that I learned long ago. Opa was also notorious for sneaking us the best snacks: when I was little he had oreos hidden in the cabinet that we got to eat when no one else was looking.

Gaga was a person that seemed almost mythical. She was 101 and for as long as I remember had simply been there. She introduced me to musicals, showing me The Sound of Music and Mary Poppins when I was five. My aunt told me recently that she carried a letter I wrote her from summer camp in her purse for years. She loved angel pins and wore one with every outfit, on all my travels I made sure to bring one back to her. She was sharp and funny and loved music, and in many ways encouraged me to try and be a better person. 

I have been extraordinarily lucky to have such hugely influential, loving people in my life for so long. I know that. I also know that I would give so much to have another conversation with them, to share a hug, to ask a question, to tell them I love them, or even to be asked about the weather. And for that reason I don't want 2020 to be over. I haven't experienced a year without these family members and while it was inevitable it would happen, this cascade of grief has been overwhelming. 

Maybe I'll post about London soon, but for now I'm wishing you a safe new year.

Madeline