Coming to Terms

On 28 February, I received the phone call that all of us - especially those who live far away from their families - dread receiving. We hope that the day we receive such a phone call will never come, but deep down inside, we know all too well that it ultimately will. It was my father on the phone. I could tell right away from the tone in his voice that this was not the usual "wanted to see how you are doing" phone call. Something had happened. Something bad. The seconds between the first hello and his next words felt like an eternity. So many questions raced through my mind: What had happened? Was someone hurt? Am I just imagining the difference in the tone of voice? Is this the dreaded phone call? Finally, he spoke, and as he did, I felt something shatter within me. It was my grandmother. She had been crossing the street and got hit by a truck. She was gone. My first reaction, for a split second, was disbelief. What?!?! That's not possible. That couldn't have happened; not to her. But it had happened. There it was. I had seen her two months back and now I will see her no more. Then the tears came. Tears of sadness (I hope she didn't suffer), tears of anger (at the driver - how could he have not seen her? what was he doing?), tears of worry (how is my grandfather taking this? what about my mother?), tears of nostalgia (for what was but never again will be). So many emotions that I almost felt like I wouldn't have enough tears for all of them.

What happened after that is a bit of haze. I talked to everyone in my family. Actually, "talked" is exaggerated. It was more like crying together on the phone. I had never experienced my mother so distraught, disconsolate, almost broken. Never before had I seen or heard my father cry. My sister - I think she cried herself to sleep that day. There was nothing to say. It felt fake and wrong to try and offer words of consolation, when inside I felt exactly the same way they did. At the same time, the human instinct, makes you want to try and somehow protect those around you from the pain, at least as much as you can. There it was, 28 February 2009.

With each passing day since then, it has gotten somewhat easier. You have to accept in order to move on. I went home and spent time with my family, celebrated my grandfather's birthday, saw family members who live in other parts of the world. But most of all, we all remembered my grandmother - at her best but also at her not so good moments, the things she would do and say, and her manner of being. There were smiles and there were tears and there was every single other emotion in between. I did not always agree with her, but I will never remember our disagreements. To me, she is and always will be someone I will love and cherish forever.

I want to end this post with a story. While I was back in Bulgaria for a year, I would visit my grandparents almost weekly. One time, I was there for dinner and we had had a lot of food, plus wine, of which my grandfather might have had a little more than usual. We were still sitting at the table, talking, when out of the blue he said to her, "I love you" and leaned over to kiss her on the cheek. Her reaction was, "What are you saying?!? You've had too much wine." At that moment in time, I couldn't help but stifle a smile. That's how the two of them were, always.

This post is for her. May you finally accept the fact that people do love you and miss you, and always will. Rest in peace. Почивай в мир.