Mindfulmaven

Reflections on my type A life

To those who may stumble across this and don’t already know who I am – well, I apologize for the boring read. I’m not really a fun person. Dry, sarcastic, witty, and bossy – I am all of those things. Fun? Not so much.

If you’re still reading, here’s a bit of insight: I’m a 40-year-old mother and wife. I recently discovered that writing down the things that drive me to distraction is incredibly cathartic. It helps me decompress and process intense emotions.

To explain how I got here: my grandma passed away in the fall of 2024. You don’t need to tell me how fortunate I am to have had her for 40 years. I know. In fact, I still have a living grandparent. I’m definitely blessed in that respect.

But about my writing… The evening after my grandma passed away, my mom called me with what she wanted the newspaper to say about my Nenaw’s life and subsequent death. It was good. It was on point. Factual. But it was missing the essence of her—the thing that made her my Nenaw. So, the next morning, after a fitful night’s sleep, I got up, went to work out, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Not the grief, but the words. The words that didn’t fully express what she meant to me, to all of us. So I grabbed my phone, opened the Notes app, and just started talking. I said the things that made her unique, that made her loved by so many, that made us laugh and cry.

Once I finished editing it, I sent it to my mom. She called and said, “I want that read at the funeral, but we need a shorter version for the paper. Can you reduce it and take it to the funeral home today?” I said sure. I hadn’t intended to take that on. I hadn’t really thought anyone outside the close family would see or hear those words. But I do know that I felt more peace in the moments after I wrote it than I had in the weeks leading up to Nenaw’s death.

So, through the good and the bad, I want to write about those peaks and valleys to get the energy out—to shake it off, metaphorically speaking.

As one of the least Swiftie Swifties, I’m sticking with my terrible analogies.

I’ve got a blank page, baby… and I’m going to write what I feel.

Wow Nenaw, You’re Old

Can you believe your 90th birthday was already two years ago? Hard to believe.
What’s also hard to believe is that just one day before your 90th, you were completely shocked when your daughter walked you into a surprise party—after blindfolding you and whisking you away. But you were. Totally were.

How do we celebrate your first heavenly birthday?
I wish I could pick up the phone and ask you. You always had the most thoughtful feedback. I think we’ll send Mom flowers—it’s going to be a hard day for her. Sometimes, I think we fool ourselves into believing it’s easy to just push forward and not dwell on missing you. But then it hits, out of nowhere.

We’ll be out to dinner, and I’ll see a great-grandma hugging her great-grandbabies, and I think about how much they’d love to give you a hug right now.
I asked my mother-in-law about the jungle in my office—your plants that have completely taken over—and I wanted advice on what to do with them. Normally, I would have called you. Those are the days that are hardest.

We want to celebrate you.
We want to remember you.
We can’t wait to see you again someday.

So I hope you blow out the candles on your cake this year and wish for your family to have peace and understanding.

Love you,
ET

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