Those Left Behind

I constantly vacillate on whether or not I like my grandmother. I am still not sure if she is a good person. But today, I pitied her, or better stated, I sympathized with her. Since my grandfather died, she has acted as though she was so dependent on him, when in fact it was the other way around. My family has been perplexed for the last few months on why she has been so depressed and helpless. Today, she packed up some of my grandfather's clothes. She is slowly cleaning him out of the house. She worked in spurts, having to leave the room at times just to get away from the idea of giving the remaining pieces of him away.

It isn't fair to be left with the remnants of someone else's life. To have to be responsible for packing up what you left behind at death. It would be an interesting exercise if we knew when our end would come and we divided up and donated the objects that were our lives. Not the objects that can be willed away but the objects that remind you of that trip together or the first date.

When you die you should take it all with you. It isn't fair to those left behind to have to pack up and suffer through remembering what it was like when you were still here. Today I understood some piece of my grandmother's pain, what it means to be the one that's still here.