My grandmother died when I was sixteen. It wasn’t a surprise. She had been unwell for a while with a second bout of cancer. When she went into remission after the first time, she continued to smoke. Later, when she passed, I remember telling people not to be sympathetic, after all, it was her choice, wasn’t it? I suppose it was my way of bypassing the pity looks, but maybe I just looked more like an asshole than anything else. 

It was summer, maybe a Friday night, and I was all set to go out. I got the text from my friend Weston that he was outside my house. As I entered the hallway, my mom opened her door to meet me. She was crying, which was weird for her and weird for me. It’s been too long since, but I imagine that she must have said something similar to, “Your grandma died.” It hasn’t been too long to forget my reply: “Okay.” I turned, left, and hopped into Weston’s jeep. 

I know people tend to hate “dead grandparent” stories. They always seems so hollow compared to other people’s tragedies. Maybe that’s why I didn’t allow myself to grieve properly with any of my losses. My grandmother’s death followed me over the years. I remember after our drive back to Washington to retrieve a few of her belongings, I wore only her clothes for months. People noticed and commented, not negatively, but it was evident that I was doing something different. But mostly, there are pockets of time, of grief, that I am left to sit with and it always feels more like regret than anything else.

My father’s mother passed away years later. I knew she was older and we didn’t keep in contact like we should have, so I made a point to visit her in Las Vegas before I moved east. A friend at the time sat me down and said that I would be making a mistake if I didn’t “say my good-byes.” I’m glad I listened to her. My grandmother died the next year. She was diagnosed with cancer as well. She kept asking if I was coming to see her. She phrased it as curiosity but I know now that she wanted me to see her before she died. She kept trying to find ways to tell me that it would be quick, that I couldn’t wait much longer. I wish I would have listened to her. I told everyone that I was confident in my decision and that I already said goodbye. Everyone looked at me with sympathy. 

I miss them both, but what I miss most is the lack of connections, memories, and stories that we should and could have shared. I didn’t make the effort like I should have. I knew that there was a small window of time and I tried to make amends with that instead of working harder. These are the hard lessons that you learn as an adult; the ones that come when it is too late. My mother sent me a box of old things last year, most of it photos. I sat at my kitchen table sorting through my childhood and started to cry. Photo after photo there were people that are no longer here. More lost connections. Family and friends, gone. 

I have always lived in my bubble of things missed and things never had, but I was new to the bubble of things taken away. I guess I had been there for years, but this was the first time that I had started to acknowledge my loss. And then I lost my childhood cat (yes, I know people hate dead pet stories even more), and for the first time, I was forced to live in my grief. I couldn’t hop into a friend’s car into the summer night and pretend that death wasn’t able to touch me, that the future couldn’t touch me. The reality that things would come to end was more evident, and what do you do when you can’t run anymore? How do you cope?

To all the people (and pets) that I never properly said good-bye to, and to all the missed opportunities, I want to say that I choose now to take a more meaningful approach to life. I focus more on the connections that I have with people and make an effort to cherish the moments I have with them. I can’t prevent loss, but I can prevent the feelings of regret of not reaching out, of not calling, of saying I’m sorry, or letting things go. And more privately, to all those that I have loss, I miss you all deeply; I’m sorry I didn’t do more.