I could start this story with “I remember it like it was yesterday” as many stories do, but that wouldn’t be entirely true. To be completely honest, I don’t quite remember the morning my grandmother died. I remember bits and pieces, like my whole family sitting on a single hotel bed in our very initial stages of mourning. I remember texting all of my closest friends in a frantic attempt to find someone who would talk on the phone with me at 4 a.m. Hawaii time. Truth be told, I don’t remember much about that morning. It’s been five years since that day of bad news; what I remember is what has happened in all those years since. This is the story of my growth as well as my process of grief and mourning in these five years since.

Five years ago, I was in my freshman year of high school and the age of 14. I had just finished my first high school play, my crowning achievement at the time, "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow." Five years ago, I was in San Diego, California, visiting my grandparents for Thanksgiving. My grandmother was in the hospital, suffering from the complications of her long battle with dementia. Five years ago, I sat in a hotel room, waiting for my family to get ready to go visit her. Unfortunately, we didn’t make it.

My grandmother was the most important person in my life; she was my happy, warm bubble of security at the end of the day when I couldn’t bear the weight of my little world. She did all the beautifully grandmother-esque things you would expect from a little old midwestern woman: she had all the Werther’s hard caramels in the world, doilies littered her home, and her apple pies spoiled me for all other grandmothers’ apple pies for the rest of my days. However, her most important and lasting contribution to my life were not the things she had, but what she did in her nearly 90 years of life. At the time of her death, my grandmother had raised five children, at times as a single mother. She earned her PhD in education, and had risen to the role of principal at her school. It was through her legacy that I learned the importance of education.

Five years later, I am in my sophomore year of college and nearly 20 years old. So many things have happened in these past five years; I survived high school, even though I was pretty sure I wouldn’t. I got into my top choice college, even though I was pretty sure I wouldn’t. One thing that I hoped would happen is me overcoming my grandmother’s passing. I suppose with the loss of a loved one, you never quite get over it. In the early days of my process, I was very fragile. I was just beginning my time at a new high school, and had no idea who I wanted to be. With my main pillar of security taken from me, I quickly found myself in a depressive state. My young heart and mind scrambled for some form of security, and only found comfort in my own mind. I isolated myself from my friends and struggled with school that year more than any other. I spent too much time in my head and none at all with people that loved and cared about me.

To be completely honest, I’m still not 100 percent out of the hole I dug for myself five years ago. I am still working through my many emotions that were sparked by both this event and by simply being an emotional wreck of a teenager, but five years later and into my twentieth year of life, I’m learning.

Five years later, I am still mourning. I believe I will feel the loss of my grandmother, idol and best friend forever. However, I know that the love of my grandmother and her impact on who I am is everlasting, although her life was not. I am learning how to take care of myself and my emotions, and how to manage my anxiety and depression. I am learning that life and grief are always in a constant state of flux, and are always a work in progress.