I Should Have Said Goodbye

It's been almost a year since she died. My grandma. Everyone called her Nana, even me, well into my thirties. And I still can't shake this feeling. This…regret.

She was sick for a while, you know? Not suddenly, not like a heart attack or accident. It was cancer. Slow, creeping, awful cancer that just ate away at her, piece by piece. We all knew it was coming. The doctors said so, the family could see it. Nana, I think, knew it best of all.

And that’s what makes it so much worse. Knowing. Having time. And still… still messing it up.

I lived a few hours away. I had a job, a life, responsibilities. That’s what I told myself, anyway. Every time Mom called, telling me Nana wasn't doing so well, I’d promise to come visit. ‘Soon,’ I’d say. ‘Next weekend. I’ll clear my schedule.’ And then I wouldn't. Something would always come up. A work project, a friend’s birthday, even just… wanting to stay home and do nothing. Stupid, selfish reasons.

I visited, sure. I wasn’t a complete monster. But it was never enough. Never as often as I should have. Never as long as I should have stayed. I’d rush in, give her a hug, chat for an hour or two, then rush back out. Always with the promise of ‘next time.’

The last time I saw her, she was weak. Really weak. Barely able to talk. She squeezed my hand, and I remember thinking how frail her fingers felt. I told her I loved her, of course. I always did. But I didn't really *say* goodbye. Not a real one. I just said, “I’ll see you soon, Nana.” Like always.

She died a few days later. Mom called, crying. And all I could think was, ‘I should have said goodbye.’ I should have told her how much she meant to me. How much I loved her. How grateful I was for all the things she’d done for me over the years. All the cookies she baked, the stories she told, the way she always made me feel safe and loved.

I should have held her hand longer. I should have sat with her in silence. I should have just…been there. Present. Not rushing. Not thinking about my own stupid life for five minutes.

Now she’s gone. And all I have left are these regrets. This heavy, aching feeling in my chest that won’t go away. Maybe writing this down will help. Maybe it won’t. But I needed to say it somewhere. To someone. Even if it’s just to the internet. Learn from my mistake, I guess. Don't wait to say goodbye. Don't assume there will always be a next time. Because sometimes, there isn't.