Collage- two pages!

The Puzzle Piece

When I was little, my family and I would do puzzles. A lot. I sometimes wonder how we ever kept all of the puzzle pieces in the right puzzle box. But, there was one puzzle that I remember more clearly than all the others. My family would spend hours putting it together. Then one day, a puzzle piece went missing.

April 9^th, at my boyfriend’s house for Passover, I answer a call from my mom:

“Mom, we are about to start dinner, can I please call you back later?” I said annoyed.

“There has been an accident… She choked. Dad’s on his way to the hospital.”

“…what….what do you mean?”

“I am so sorry sweetie… grandma is gone.”

In my mind, I had always known this day would come. And I had known that I needed to prepare myself for a loss of someone whom I cherished so dearly. After all, everyone was concerned about me, considering what happened after Steve and Ray’s deaths. So I went to therapy. But, even with all the therapy in the world, nothing could have prepared me for this.

April 9^th, at my boyfriend’s house for Passover, while everyone is sitting down for prayers, after the phone call with my mom:

Shock. Disbelieve. Extreme sadness. Rage.

Pain. The unbearable pain of losing someone so involved in your life, it was like someone ripped my chest open, thrown my heart on the floor, managing to puncture both my lungs. I couldn’t breathe.

We all knew that grandma needed help, and she was only getting worse. But I blocked all of it out of my mind. I remember the last time I saw here. Lying in the hospital bed. I stood in the corner, I didn’t even stay anything, I could barely look. Just even thinking about losing my grandma would make me sob, but then I would remember that she is still here, she is still fighting. Now, I can’t stop.

April 9^th, at my boyfriend’s house for Passover, while everyone is saying prayers, I have the weight of the world on my shoulders:

Me: “She shouldn’t have died! She shouldn’t have! Why isn’t grandpa suing the hospital?! It’s their fault, they should pay!”

Sam: “Johanna, they did everything they could! She is gone and you need to accept that. Please come downstairs and join us for dinner.”

He couldn’t understand. Passover didn’t matter anymore. How could I even celebrate Passover without my grandma? She was always the one to cook the food and bring my family together. It just felt so wrong. I couldn’t go downstairs and be normal, I didn’t feel normal. I was broken; I was missing a puzzle piece. How do you hold yourself together, when the only thing that keeps you sane is now just a memory?