My head feels heavy with memories of the dead. I sink deeper into the pillow and close my eyes. Images from different space-times are flashing behind my eyelids. I suddenly get overwhelmed by the torrent of emotions that swirls through my body.
When my grandmother died, almost 14 years ago, my whole world disintegrated. God, how much I loved that woman! Not only because she was my gradma, but also because she was an amazing human being. Years before her death she told me she fears of being forgotten. I promised her I won’t, but, unfortunately, time blew a thick layer of dust over the memories with her. I can’t remember her smell or her voice anymore. She stopped appearing in my dreams, too. I disappointed her.
I am the living proof that she existed. I wish the world knew her and not succumb into becoming a memory that is slowly fading. She deserves more.
I know that speeding up the grief helped the wounds heal faster, but now I wish I was stronger and let my soul bleed for longer because, it seems, that only through that pain I can summon her image in my mind.
I miss her and I’m truly sorry that I’m slowly forgetting one of the most precious persons to have ever known and loved. I wish she knew that. I’d rather stop breathing than let her fade away.