Last week, when I was on my way from work to home in the car, I received call from my sister. She sounded distressed as she told me that Vroma (that is what me and my sister called grandma on my mother’s side) was in cardiac arrest and a team was trying to revive her.
I picked up my wife and broke a few traffic laws on my way to the hospital. But all was in vain. Vroma had died at the age of 81.
I was and still am held hostage by a sense of grief I have not known for a long time. I loved that woman with all my heart and suddenly she was gone from us. I am confused and even a little angry as how this could have happened. She was in the hospital when she went into cardiac arrest, but for anemia. Specialists were trying to determine what was causing her anemic state; no one really even considered the chance that she would die as an indirect result of this.
I feel she was taken from us too soon, simply because despite her age she was a very active woman. She went camping every single year with my grandpa, loved to walk or bike, had tons of hobbies she could do. She was a cheerful sometimes silly person, who was loved and adored by many.
And now she is gone.
My heart is filled with sadness of knowing I will never hear her voice again or be hugged by her. Never will I again be able to tell her that I love her, although I know in my heart that she knew it.
I love you Vroma. I think of you fondly and hope to see you again one day in the distant future.