I didn't know it until my mother told me, but today marks eight years since my maternal grandmother died. She passed away on August 12, 2007, a little over a year after my father died. How could I not remember? I felt nothing. My mother didn't talk about it much, but I know she carries the grief inside her body like I do. Perhaps we are only vessels for grief.
How have we made it here? The answer: each other. Grief deepened my love for her. I'm not sure I truly understood love until my father died, until I lost and and found love all at once. I discovered the muscle of love, how it keeps you living and breathing when you don't think you can go on. We are skin and bone and dust, but we are also love.