All the Dead Grandmas

She plopped in my office chair with a heavy sigh. “Hey, you have a minute? I might cry, but I need to talk.” I feel privileged that students drop by like this, and nervous what might happen when I’m reduced to a cubicle and mobile roaming across campus. Because there she was, drowning in sadness, and she came to see me.

“My grandma died last week. I was by her side. And it feels like my world is falling apart.”

I talked about waves, and how grief is like waves, and she loved the idea so much. And maybe that’s why my grandma died, so I could sit in empathy with this student, talking about memories and the grieving process.

Maybe we’re all in this together.


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