I drove to the coast tonight. Parked my car and rolled down the windows. Took in a few deep breaths, trying to relax my mind. I had come for some solace , thinking that the smell of the ocean would bring on happy thoughts.
It's too bad you can't bottle that smell, my Grams would always say. There's nothing like the smell of the ocean and the sound of the waves.
When I drove to the coast tonight and rolled down my windows, I was hopeful that taking in that smell she loved so much would bring on happy thoughts.
But it didn't.
Every year, I think, it should get easier. You always hear that ... that time makes it better.
But really, it doesn't. In a lot of ways it kind of makes it worse.
She's been gone eight years now. The longer she's gone the more I start to forget certain things about her. And when I do start to remember all those beautiful moments my grandma and I shared, it makes me sad. So instead of enjoying the memories, I just shut down and tune it out.
Compartmentalize. Think of something else.
Because as much as I wish the years made it easier, in many ways it just makes it harder.
She has missed so much and the more years that pass, the more moments she has missed.
The memories don't make me happy, they make me mad. Mad she isn't here for what has now been eight years. Eight years of seeing my kids grow up and being a part of our lives.
Instead, I came home and lit my yarhzeit candle. Said Kaddish for her and hoped that tomorrow the smell of the ocean would bring me happy thoughts instead.
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