Nana

Every soul I've loved and lost has brought me greater acceptance toward living in a world without them. But for some, there is no strength that can prepare you for the pain and sorrow of their loss.

I knew when Nana would leave this life that my world would be irrevocably altered. To say she was a pillar of my entire existence for as long as I can remember is an understatement. Though she and I approached the knowledge of her inevitable death with grace, there was no dulling the blade of her passing when it cut me.

I'd imagined a peaceful sleep, surrounded by all of us, after every loving goodbye had been said. Nana was so strong, healthy, and seemingly indestructible. It seemed a given that we would know when the end was nigh. I certainly did not expect to be joking and talking about appointments one day, only to find her lifeless on the next. I never expected to walk through the door to face the devastating, instant, soul-deep discovery that she was gone. She'd been gone.

For some small number of hours—the length of an afternoon, an evening—she was dead, and I was oblivious.

Until I wasn't.
Until I found her.
Until I saw the too-bright line of light under her bedroom door and knew immediately it was wrong. She would have been sleeping with the TV on, its flickering screen only dimly lighting the hall through her door.

So that is what haunts me. That is what creeps behind my eyelids once the sun goes down and I face the dread of lying in bed at night. That is the single sharp line that cut my entire life with Nana in it, from every unimaginable minute without her afterwards.