I know it's true and real

I've lost people before. With any loss no matter the contect comes grief. I think a lot of people only associate the word grief with death but it touches many other experiences as well. Death just seems to be the overarching one.

I've felt the devastation, disappointment, and sorrow. I'll never forget the way the air left my lungs when I heard the words "she passed away this morning" and the only thing I could make out was "tell me you're not serious? Are you serious?" between my choking sobs. The anger and confusion and feeling of a slow settling realization made there way in as well. I'm 22 and now I have the rest of my life without her. She was my last grandparent. She was the end of the era. I don't have her to enjoy, to call, to look forward to visiting. I don't have her anymore, and that's what stings the most. Any simple little itch to find her, open the door and see her, won't be remedied. There was nothing like sitting at our kitchen table sharing a conversation over a cup of tea. And I don't get to do that anymore. And it's not fair. And that's what makes my eyes water as I write this and I feel anger bubbling up in my throat and I want to half sob or scream. And then the feeling washes over.

It's been almost two months of these feelings. Her 87th birthday came and went. I miss her. I think that's one of the most common things people say when they talk about a late loved one. But now I understand it better. It has hard, concrete substance when I say it. I miss her so much. It feels like there's a bubble around me, of her and the thought of her, along with my life that keeps on going.

This day was so heavy. It was a crisp, sunny winter day. Just the way she liked it. A walk along the Tramore Doneraile the day after the funeral.

Although it may sound like it with these first few paragraphs, I'm not feeling consumed entirely by the sadness of grief because afterall she was a month shy of 87 years old and she often told me she was ready to go. It's the reality of old age to be fair. It's just my own needs and wants for her to be here for longer that bring back the true feelings of grief. Is that selfish? I'm not really sure.

Recently I sat in the Madrid sun, enjoying the first few weeks of Spring weather with a friend when she said to me "well it's kinda nice, because we just get to be with them more now. Like they are everywhere, we just can't see them," and that was truly comforting. I know I feel her. Whether it's a figment of my own thoughts or something real. I do know for certain though that my kids, and anyone of importance in my life --- for the rest of my life --- will know about her and our relationship. It's the least I can do.

Apart from dealing with death, I'm happy. That sounds wrong and I oddly feel guilt ridden writing death and happy in the same sentence. But that's another thing about life, two opposites can undoubtedly exist at once and that's just pure fact. I am living what I dreamed of having the opportunity to do, the weather in Madrid is glorious right now and I'm so thankful to be here as always. I just can't help but feel like it's all fleeting.

Not everything has to last forever for it to be special. A sentence I wrote down in my "Blog" notes page on my phone. I'm a perfectionist, true and through. I hold myself to dangerously high standards sometimes, something I've actually talked about in therapy for years. Now that sounds a bit prissy and like I try to be better than others. But no, it's best described as a battle with myself. Which can be a good thing sometimes, don't get me wrong. But it's times like this when I have to remind myself I can't be perfect in grief -- thinking about her all the time, feeling the sadness constantly, making sure I am true to the process when sometimes I forget she's gone all together. I can't be perfect in my attempt to begin my career path. I can't be perfect with my health. I can't be perfect in my writing as it often takes me months to finish a blog post. I can't experience Madrid perfectly and I can't stay here forever, it might only be one year rather than the two I planned and that's okay. It will not last forever, just like my grandmother didn't, and that doesn't mean it won't always be one of the dearest experiences of my life.

So yea. This was a short update as of late. I'm excited for what's to come, I ache for what I have to leave in the past and I'll keep writing although it's never perfect, but I know it's true and real to me.

Madrid, Feb. 2026