One Year Later

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 It's been a year, and I ain't saying it ain't been a good one. It's been a "did a lot more than I thought I could" one. -It's Been a Year by Ashley Cooke 


If that isn't the truth, Grandma. 

I miss you more than life. 


But we're doing okay. 

Maybe not today, but that's expected. 


I've learned that grief comes in waves. 

Like the other night, when I stepped outside and looked up at the stars. 


I just cried and talked to you. 

It was what I needed, but it was brief. 


Brief like our last phone call on May 12, 2024; 

8 days before my heart shattered and left a pain that lingered. 

_______

A year later, I've been pushed to change my perspective. 

The idea of re-shaping how I'm viewing these "bad" things that keep happening. 


I'm finding hidden meanings as to why things have happened. 

I find myself believing that God is on my side again, after doubting his mission.


I've read a few blogs from Hope During Loss (linked below), 

where she explains that the feeling of defeat becomes a path to healing. 


I've watched this past year go from broken to whole again.

The puzzle that was once scattered is slowly piecing back together. 


We moved into my late grandma's house the July after she passed. 

I've come to love and dislike certain things about this life that we'll soon leave behind us. 


The snake we've had occupying the (blocked off) upstairs is unsettling.

The electrical situation is sketchy, but I believe Grandma is watching over us. 


Trash doesn't reach us out here, so we are left to burn or recycle. 

Sami, the dog, is caught daily eating said ash and doesn't know what "cancer" means. 


But the sunsets and sunrises,

the good neighbors down the road,

the nights with nowhere to go,

the silence, except for the interstate sounds,

the black kitty that comes up nightly for a can of tuna,

the free space Sami has to run and explore without barriers,

the closeness to our families and the two people I lost this year. 


I'm going to miss it all. More than I can ever put into perspective for the person reading this.

Now it's one year later, and I have to say goodbye to your home, your land, and your life. 

Not a day goes by that I don't wish for one more I love you. 


One year later brings a different type of sadness, but also a different type of hope. 

Good things are waiting for us, and I have angels watching over each step. 


Happy 1st year in Heaven, Grandma Lois. 


With love,

Jenna K. 


Hope During Loss-- Blog

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