Grief has handicapped me over the last 8 weeks. My doctor told me that it can be effective to write a letter to the person you are missing, so here it goes…

Bubby,

It’s 12:25am on a Friday. I’m laying in my bed at home. Julie is out with her friends. Mommy and Daddy are downstairs sleeping. Everyone is living their lives and the world is continuing to spin… but whenever I think of you, my world stops. It freezes. Everything moves in slow motion except for my heart which starts to beat faster and faster as I try to catch my breath. See, I’m not at the point where I can miss you without breaking down and crying. The crying leads to panic and before I know it I’m gasping for air. In these moments there are many things I think about, but few that really calm me down.

I think about you a lot. But instead of thinking about the next time I’ll see you, or how excited I am to hear your voice when I call you, I’m thinking about how none of those joys will ever be apart of my life again. It hurts so badly. I think about how your absence is even louder than your presence was. You’d sit there quietly, but we always knew you were there. In fact, it was very rare that you’d ever be alone. One of your boys, daughter-in-laws, or grandchildren would be attached to your hip because everyone always fought over you. Julie and I would fight about who got to sit next to you; we’d literally take turns. That’s not something that changed with age either… even in hospice we’d whisper to each other, “move over, it’s my turn with Bub”.

But back to my initial point, it’s so obvious that you’re not here. We had the first “complete” Hersh family dinner when I came back home for spring break… but I honestly don’t feel comfortable using the word complete because we won’t EVER be complete without you. We may still have fun, laugh a lot, and create memories, but the void that exists in each one of our hearts is something that although not truly being discussed amongst us right now, is so insanely real. We all miss you so much. 

I was driving Julie to the library the other day and we talked about you. We talked about how it still doesn’t feel real that you’re not here. That same day we had a conversation with an acquaintance of the family. Something came up about you and Julie said, “Yeah, our Bubby used to say that”. Used to. That was the first time your name was brought up in past tense in casual conversation. It was so hard to hear… but unfortunately I’m gonna have to get used to that. 

During this past Hersh family dinner, I volunteered to take Pop-pop grocery shopping the following day. Aunt Jaime did it the time before but she had a very busy week ahead, so I stepped up to the plate ready for the challenge. But I wasn’t as ready as I thought I was. I drove to your house the next day and as I pulled onto your street, I saw your car parked out front. It was comforting at first, but then very unsettling once I realized that you wouldn’t be inside. I parked and went in. Opening the front gate made me think of how many times you used to have to help me with that latch. I always needed your help! The porch furniture and pots in the corner reminded me of the gardening we used to do when I’d come over. I opened the front door and took a really deep breath. I wasn’t ready to be in your house without you, but there I was standing there looking around to see endless pictures of you. Just you. Pop-pop redecorated the house it seems… you can tell he misses you just by looking around.

Your basement had just been gutted because of the mold problem… but although the lack of furniture and stuff was because of the mold, the physical emptiness directly correlated to the void I feel within. I went down there alone and I walked around remembering all the little things we used to do together. In the right corner of the room is where we’d look through some old photo albums that were in the cabinets, in the left corner was the reclining chair and sofa bed that we’d sit on with that huge teddy bear that I loved, we’d color and do arts and crafts on the floor, I’d watch you sew on your sewing machine down the hall, I’d help you carry the laundry upstairs, and we’d both make fun of pop-pop’s messy office that I’d spend WAY too long trying to organize. There were lots of memories down there, all of which you were apart of. So as I walked around feeling overwhelmed by the emptiness, I tried to keep it together, but that didn’t work out too well. I was having a hard time. But one thing was for sure, I needed to be strong for Pop-pop. I know that I miss you and that I feel lonely when I think of your absence, but he was married to you for 53 years. He went to bed next to you every night and woke up with you in the morning. His void is surely greater than mine will ever be. He needed me to keep my composure, so I did. I did it for him. 

We drove to Wegmans and the negotiations started before we even entered the store. I was trying to convince him to eat some healthier things, but you know him, the answer was no. It’s tough shopping for someone who doesn’t cook, who doesn’t eat a single vegetable, and who eats tons of sugar despite having diabetes… Bubby, kudos to you. Seriously. We spent an hour and a half walking through the aisles and coming up with ideas for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. We walked past the refrigerated section and I asked him if he eats yogurt. He said, “No, but Bubby did. Let me show you her brand…… I like to keep one in the fridge” I asked him why. We just established that he doesn’t eat it, so I was a little confused. “It reminds me of her…so I like to keep one in the fridge.” Comments like that were a common occurrence throughout this grocery store run. But instead of responding emotionally, I tried very hard to be calm and composed. I did just that all the way until I got into my car alone. And then I didn’t have to pretend anymore. I didn’t have to pretend that I wasn’t hurting. So I listened to sad music and cried the whole way home. I’ve noticed something about myself during this period of grief… I only break down when I’m alone. My eyes fill up with tears when I talk about you to other people, but the true moments of sadness and panic happen when it’s just me and my thoughts.

Multiple family members told me that you were most concerned about me after you were gone… and to be honest, I do understand why, even though I don’t like to know that you were worrying about me during your last days. I always wear my heart on my sleeve, it’s in my DNA, I guess. I’m emotional and I don’t usually hide that. But you couldn’t be more opposite. You never really talked about your feelings. We were always very different in that way but regardless shared a very special bond. However, when I was at your house Pop-pop told me to take whatever I wanted of yours, so naturally I searched for pictures, letters, anything with sentiment. You know me, that’s all I care about anyway… but I did find my Bat Mitzvah sweatshirt and took that too:) While reading some of these letters and emails and cards, I came across one in particular that gave me lots of insight. It was an email in which you spoke about your mother who died when you were 20 years old. We never got the chance to speak about your mother, and after reading that email I know you held much regret about keeping your memories with her to yourself. But guess what Bub? Your mother will always be special to us, not because we have memories with her or know her, but because she was special to you. It makes me sad that you kept all of that pain inside, but as you said, you’re not an emotional person… I guess that’s just how you coped with hardship. 

After reading that it made me think about the future. By future, I mean kids. The kids that I will have one day (don’t worry… I’m speaking about the distant future). Anyone who really knows me knows that I love babies and kids. Most girls fantasize about their wedding day and the beautiful dress they are gonna wear… and yeah, I think about that sometimes. But more than that, I think about my kids. I wonder what they’ll like to do and who they’ll turn out to be. I can’t wait for that chapter of my life (again, it’s a little while away, but I do have fun thinking about it!) But ever since you died I get upset when I think about my kids… they won’t ever know you. I was very fortunate to know both of my great-grandmothers. Although neither are living anymore, I have happy memories that I cherish. You obviously won’t be at my wedding, which is sad. But even more upsetting than that is that you won’t be in the hospital waiting room. You won’t meet your great-grandchildren who would have LOVED you. They won’t get to bake cookies and play with you. That hurts. It hurts me because they lost something that they won’t ever really understand. 

But here’s the thing, I won’t ever stop talking about you. Ever. Because the relationship I shared with you has changed who I am and has inspired me in ways that are hard to describe. I didn’t know your mother. We didn’t know your mother, and I know that hurt you. You regret not speaking of her, but Bubby, I understand. I understand why you feel like you should have spoken about her, but I also understand why you didn’t. It was too painful. In a different way, I’m feeling that pain right now. Thinking and talking about you is hard. It makes me miss you a million times more. Everyone says it takes time, and I know there is truth to that. But I also think that when you lose someone who was so influential and special to you, the void never fully goes away. You learn to live with it, but you always feel it. I guess what I’m trying to say here is that although my void right now is huge and it doesn’t feel like this will ever get better, I know it will. Many years down the line when my children are old enough, I’ll tell stories about you. They’ll know you because I love you. As long as I’m alive, you won’t EVER be forgotten. 

One of the last things you said to me, was about how you didn’t want to ruin my semester. You said that it would upset you if I wasn’t living my life and enjoying myself. You told me that it would be hard but that I would be okay. This semester has been SO hard. Because despite the academic challenges I’m facing and the never-ending to do list I’m up against, I’m always thinking about you. I’m always missing YOU. And no, you’re not ruining my semester. Am I struggling? Yes. In fact, I’m struggling more than I thought I would… but Bubby, if you taught me ANYTHING it’s that family comes first and that being a gritty girl takes you far in life. Both of us endured hardship at young ages, and although our situations were dramatically different, the outcomes were similar… learning resilience and having grit. So, yeah, this sucks and it has surely put a damper on this semester, but guess what? Next semester could be AMAZING! Unfortunately I won’t get to call you when I join a sorority or when I declare my major (which by the way is switching again), but I’m hoping you’ll see it happening live. 

I’ll continue to talk to you and sing to the songs that remind me of you. Know that you’ll be in my heart forever and that I love you to pieces. I’m sending HUGE hugs to you and your mom up there. I hope your reunion after 54 years was everything you could’ve hoped for and more. 

All my love always,

Em