nana

"we'll spread her ashes into the open sea and she'll become part of our universe. when the rain starts falling and a raindrop falls on your cheek, consider it a kiss from your grandmother", said the grandfather to his youngest grandchild. her rounded eyes matched his, wet and in disbelief. the first time you experience death, it knocks you completely off your feet and suspends you mid-air for a brief moment, you float, numb until gravity slams you down, taking the breath right out of your lungs. and then the pain. the pain that lingers and comes in waves of "i'm okay, yeah i'm alright" and "how will i ever get through this" and the "OH GOD WHY"s and you think that maybe the pain will never stop tearing you apart but it does. your body removes all of your broken and sad parts and replaces them with something much harder and difficult to penetrate so that nothing can ever hurt you like that again and here i sit, hardened from past heartbreaks next to the soft and innocent, newly shattered, girl who's grandmother is dying and she is seeing her world crash down around her little feet. death never gets easier to understand. you're always left with the questions of, "why them?" and "why now?" that no one is really able to answer but there is nothing as heart-wrenching as a fathers cry for his mother or the cry of a husband losing his wife. this day that you never thought would come has come and with it, it takes a life, as well as many shaky hands and wet faces. you cannot console the inconsolable.