Losing a loved one is not something I have had a lot of experience with. I lost a distant great-grandparent when I was young, but I hardly remember her. Aside from my great-grandmother’s long time companion’s passing when I was nine, the closest thing I have experienced is the loss of my piano teacher of eleven years two years ago this December. She wasn’t family, but she taught me so much, more than just how to play the piano, and she left a large impact on my life. Countless hours were spent in her living room early on Saturday mornings for most of my life up to this point. She became more than a teacher. She became a confidant and friend as well. Losing her broke me in more ways than I knew possible.

Facing the impending death of my maternal great-grandmother (my mom’s mom’s mom), and my grandfather’s illness has caused many of these feelings to resurface. I’ve never truly lost a family member. What happens next? How do we keep living with this hole in our hearts and at our holiday dinner table? I sat with my great-grandma for a while tonight, or rather with the thin, fragile skeleton of the woman in my memories. She is growing increasingly harder to understand, yet never fails to greet me with a smile. As I got ready for bed tonight I couldn’t help but think about what I’d give to go back in time and spend a day with each of these people the way they are in my memories…

Four years old playing dress up with my one-year-old sister in my great-grandma’s living room. Five years old riding on my grandpa’s lap as he mows the lawn. Six years old playing with the many knick knacks on my great-grandma’s counter. Seven years old sneaking into my great-grandma’s bedroom with my cousin to try to find her skittish cat, only to be quickly shooed out and scolded for disturbing him. Eight years old riding the bus to her house where she would warm up a bowl of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup with buttered crackers for my afternoon snack, building a bird house out of popsicle sticks with my grandpa, and waking up at 7am in the summer to go for a cool walk around the neighborhood with my grandmas. Nine years old playing with my grandpa in the backyard; helping him plant sweet corn and water it, often ending in me getting wet as he sprayed me from the waterhose. I could walk just next door to my great-grandma’s where Larry (her companion) would sing “Oh my darling Clementine” while she fixed supper. Ten years old going to her house after school to play cards with her because I know she is sad now that Larry is gone. Twelve years old doing thousand piece jigsaw puzzles at her dining room table until the colors on the pieces start to melt together.

I’d go back to the day I rode with her to deliver her meals on wheels route. The day my grandpa let me use the chainsaw, even though grandma said no. The day she taught me how to knit while sitting at my cousin’s wrestling meet, and I practiced for days afterwards. The day I was helping my grandpa prepare the garden and he accidentally rototilled all the way up the fence. The day she taught me how to shuffle a deck of cards and they flew all over the place. The day my grandpa taught me how to use the lawnmower and I screamed when I stood up and it made a loud pop and whirred to a stop. The day I caught her cheating at cards and she told me you’re allowed to do that when you get old, as long as you don’t get caught.

I’d go back and take one more piano lesson.

I’m sad for so many reasons. I’m sad because my grandma is losing her mother and best friend and I worry what this will do to her. I’m sad because the world is losing an amazing woman. I’m sad because these memories I have of her in my head are all I have, and no more can be made. Would I have done things differently had I known? At ten years old I couldn’t fathom that the bouncy woman I sat with on Saturday mornings would be gone shortly after I turned 18, that my grandpa would no longer be out working in the garden by the end of the summer that I turned 20, or that my gracious great-grandma would be on hospice, nearly unrecognizable to those that love her. One day, not too far from now, I won’t have a reason to make the 15-second walk from my grandma’s back door to my great-grandma’s house. I promise you now, looking back, I wish I’d been there more. I wish I had more memories to share and more pictures to keep.

I know I’m not the only person that has faced loss. It’s just very new for me. One day I will get married and have kids of my own. My life will go on after this, and though I am sad some of these people won't be here to share my milestones and new memories with, I will continue living in a way that makes all of these people proud. But I will forever wish I could go back and do one more jigsaw puzzle, spend one more afternoon in the garden, and take one more piano lesson.