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My grandma died today. The one who told me that I shouldn't be surprised if she died of a stroke soon. Despite her frailty, I had always thought she would live forever. At the same time, when we left for the last time at Christmas I cried a little when I hugged her as we left. I'm just glad I remember that the last thing I said to her was "I love you, grandma." And that she said, "I love you too." I feel the same as when Uncle Ted died, but worse.
I feel so much regret. I wish I had listened to her more, talked to her more. She always told me the same stories so I stopped listening as much after a while. Sometimes when I would ask her about certain things she would tell me something new, like about her childhood or her marriage. She was actually a literal 50s housewife. She was apparently pretty terrible at it, though who's really good at having five kids?
I wish I knew more about her. I always felt like I would have more time.
I wonder if she believed in God.
She was so proud of me. The last time my mom talked to her on the phone, my mom told her about how well I did at Quizbowl the other day. And she said, "Tell her congratulations! Of course, I'm not surprised, but don't tell her I said that. I don't want her to feel pressured."
I wish I knew more about her.
I wish I had talked to her on the phone.
My mom says she knew that I loved her but she would always say little things like, "I know you have better things to do than spend time with your old grandma." And sometimes I would silently agree. I wish I could go back and do things differently.
I should have talked to her more.
When I was little and afraid of the dark I used to imagine that the ghost of my cousin would protect me from monsters. I imagined that he would stand in the corner of my roomand keep watch so that nothing bad could happen. As I got older, of course, I needed him less and less. But sometimes I'd still think about him, but instead of just him it was his dad, too, my uncle. I guess as we get older we accumulate more ghosts. I have four now.

Sorry for being so depressing twice in a row. Actually, no I'm not. This blog is for me. Fuck you.

goodnight, uncle ted

My great uncle is dying. It's weird to say 'great uncle' because to me when I think of great uncles I think of relatives far away that I have never met. But this great uncle is actually a member of the family I see once every two years and quite like. The non-fucked up side of the family. The side of the family where my cousin died. (This is his grandfather. That's pretty fucked up, isn't it?)
I'm kind of angry about it, actually.
Because the last time I saw him he was already pretty far gone... into Alzheimer's, sorry. And, like, I didn't really know how bad it was until we got there to see everyone. He didn't remember his own granddaughter. I believe he referred to me as "that pretty little girl over there." Which makes me want to laugh and cry at the same time.
And then the time before that I feel like I was a child (hardly, at 13) and he hadn't been diagnosed yet. I'm so angry with myself for wasting the times that I could have had with him. I'm so angry because the time where everyone was, kind of without saying it out loud, saying goodbye to him, he was already gone. So really no one ever got to say goodbye and the whole thing is horrible. I feel horrible.
I guess I'm mad because I for some reason felt like I had a lot more time. I always feel like I have forever with everyone, that people don't die and won't be at my graduation or my wedding. Which is really selfish, isn't it? What a horrible thing to say. But that's how I feel. Whenever I think about my family I feel like they will always be there.
It's so horrible to think about how I'm never, ever going to see someone I loved ever again.