I'm so sorry, Grandma

Dear Sacred Posts,

I need to get this off my chest. It's been eating me up inside for years, and I don't know who else to tell. It's about my grandma, and how I treated her towards the end of her life.

Grandma was the best. She was always there for me, from scraped knees to broken hearts. She baked the best cookies, told the silliest jokes, and always knew how to make me feel better, even when I was being a bratty teenager. She was my rock. She lived right down the street, and I'd spend almost every afternoon at her house after school. We'd watch soap operas, play cards, and she'd listen to me complain about my friends, my teachers, and everything else that seemed so important back then. Now, looking back, I realize how patient and loving she was. She never judged, she just listened.

But then things started to change. Grandma got sick. At first, it was just little things – forgetting appointments, repeating stories. But it got worse. She needed help with everything – dressing, bathing, eating. It was awful to watch her decline. And if I'm honest, it scared me. I didn't want to see her like that. I didn't want to face the fact that she was getting older and wouldn't be around forever.

So, I started avoiding her. I made excuses. I was “too busy” with school, with friends, with my first boyfriend. I’d visit less and less often. My mom and aunt did most of the caretaking, and I told myself they were better at it anyway. That Grandma probably preferred having them around. But deep down, I knew I was just being selfish.

One day, my mom called and told me Grandma was in the hospital. I went to see her, but I didn’t stay long. I told her I had to study for a big test. I remember she looked so frail in that hospital bed, her eyes clouded with confusion. She reached for my hand, and I pulled away slightly. I told her I loved her, but it felt hollow, like a script I was reading. That was the last time I saw her conscious.

She passed away a few days later. The guilt hit me like a ton of bricks. At the funeral, everyone talked about how wonderful she was, how much she loved her family. I sat there, feeling like a fraud. I hadn't been there for her when she needed me most. I had let her down.

It's been five years now, and the guilt still gnaws at me. I know I can't change the past, but I wish I could go back and do things differently. I wish I had spent more time with her, held her hand, told her how much she meant to me. I wish I hadn't been so afraid.

Grandma, if you can hear me, I'm so sorry. I was young and stupid, and I didn't understand. I love you, and I miss you every day. I hope, someday, I can forgive myself.

Sincerely,
Anonymous