When my grandmother died, I felt a bit of guilt. Not because I had necessarily done anything wrong, but because I spent so much time doing that, I didn’t feel I’d spent enough time just being with her.

Between working full-time, juggling three teenagers (my sister’s kids that lived with us) and my mother battling cancer, a stroke, and other health concerns.

I was more than busy.

There were doctor visits, nurses, and caregivers coming through our home like a revolving door. In between them coming to the house, we had medical appointments, pharmacy pickups, and school events.

It was a lot.

Whenever I had down time, I was constantly trying to make sure that they were ok. “Are you comfortable? Can I get you anything? Are you hungry?”

Move. Move. Move.

Do. Do. Do.

I try to remember the space before they were sick. Before everything seemed like a giant whirlwind of activities.

It feels miles away.

With my mother, I have been able to redeem some time. She’s now cancer free, thank God, and doing much better, although she still requires assistance. I make sure that I spend quality time with her, not just in and out, and doing.

I’m learning the art of being.

It is something that I wish I’d known before.

Before they got sick.

Before she died.

I know that my grandmother knew that I (that we all) loved her. There is no guilt about that.

I know too that we took really good care of her.

I believe she knew it too. Even in the end, she was surrounded by love.

I just wish I’d realized the value in stillness and silence.

Even a few moments of sitting with her, not talking, not bathing her, not feeding her, but sitting quietly just holding her hand.

Listening to her breathe or murmur while brushing her hair, instead of filling the empty spaces with instructions and the sound of the T.V.

An extra smile when our eyes would meet that would replace perhaps the look of exhaustion or burnout.

Did she feel the love through my fatigue? I’m sure she did, but I regret it still.

Even as I write this, her picture is on the wall smiling at me.

The difference between caring for someone and simply being with them is a lesson I’ve learned.

Perhaps the perfect answer I’ve been searching for is not either/or, but both.

I’m sure my grandmother would agree.

— J. Lashelle

Continue the Reflection

If this reflection resonates with you, you can continue reading below or explore the collection here.

Reflections