Mourning Nana

My beloved grandmother died unexpectedly several days ago. I am still grappling with the tragic news. Dealing with such a significant loss is strange in a foreign place. At first I felt distanced from the trauma, as if the expanse that separates me from home translated into emotional distance. I thought that I would be able to mourn without experiencing sensual vertigo; that what I learned about attachment and death in the remote mountains of Japan would now be put to good use.

But the grief grows with each day. The realization that I will never hug her again produces a lump in my throat that makes it hard to swallow. When I shut my eyes I am flooded by memories: the smell of her perfume, the sound of her laugh, her glittering collection of paperweights. I remember Thanksgiving dinners, never-ending games of crazy eights, and the books she used to read aloud. Nana shared stories about growing up in Oakland, attending Pomona, marrying a WWII vet, raising two darling children, traveling the world and the many events that punctuated her ever-busy social life. It breaks my heart to think she will be no more and I am not quite ready to say good-bye.