Grandmother's Will

My grandmother's will arrived in the mail today. I don't know how I was expecting myself to feel about it. But the tears welling up in my eyes surprised me. I kept trying to tell myself that receiving something from her was suppose to make me feel better. Like a salve for my broken heart. I guess I was surprised that it didn't help any. Instead, it was another reminder that she's gone.

A fresh wave of grief washed over me as if she'd died yesterday, not on March 8th, as the letter so plainly reminded me in its text.

When I got back into my apartment, I picked up my grandmother's cat and held her in a snug embrace. Despite the cat's mild squeals of protest, that physical contact with a warm living creature - especially one that my grandmother once held - helped a lot more than her money ever will.

And still the tears pour down. My chest heaves once again with the weight of my sorrow.

I wish I could be happy for her that she was freed from her failing body.

I feel selfish for holding onto my grief. For caring more for my own losses than for her possible gains - if you believe in that sort of thing. But perhaps that is part of the problem; I still don't know what I believe.