Grandma Nolan died ten years ago to the day today. It's one of the many reasons for hating March (and spaghetti, but that's a story for another time). I've been thinking about it off and on today partly because Aunt Pamela told Simon (who's up at the apartment this week) to remind me and Ian about it (as if I could forget) and partly because of this Terri Schiavo news story that people keep talking about. When someone brings up the Schiavo saga and how she died today, I can't help but think about my own family had to comply with Grandma's wishes to not be on life support in such a situation.
I wanted this post to be about the day before she died and how we first heard about her heart attack while Dad was making dinner. I wanted to talk about how I felt all day at school the next day thinking about Grandma. I wanted to detail waiting at Aunt Paula and Uncle Mike's for Mom and Dad to come home from the hospital only to dread the news when I saw the tears in their eyes. I wanted to talk about how this all left me empty, a hole, devoid of life when I realized that I was never going to see Grandma again. I can't. I can give you the basics which I just did, but I simply can't get into it. Blame it on a lot of reasons: lateness in the day, my right wrist is acting up so I can't spend forever typing, my inability to come to terms with what happened ten years ago, whatever. I just can't. Grandma was the greatest person in the world to me, and ten years of separation hasn't changed that. I'll still say, "Hi, Grandma" when I see cardinals on campus. I'll still wear green on St. Patrick's and glare at anyone wearing orange. I'll still love her. She was my grandma.