Oma

On my way to work yesterday, I pull out my phone to text my coworker and let her I'm on my way to the office.  When I fish the phone out of my bag, I realize it's been off since Saturday, when we went to see District Nine.  Oops.  I turn it on and see that there are two voicemails.   The first is from my friend Jenny, checking in to make sure she can still stay at our house this week before her flight out of BWI.  I make a mental note to email her as soon as I get to the office.

The next message is from my dad.  I just wanted to let you know that Oma died this morning, it says.

This has been a long time coming, so I shouldn't be surprised -- but I am.  I guess that no matter how long you have to prepare for something, no matter how long you've waited for it, you never think it's going to be today.  This morning. 

I call my dad back and leave a rambling message.  I don't know what to say.  I keep walking at a brisk pace, late for work.

I don't want to announce hey everyone, my grandma just died, so I don't tell anyone at work.  My day goes on as normal.  I call my mom, I email my brother.  I call Joel to tell him the news.  There's nothing I need to do.  There's nothing I can do.

I feel like an event like this, a death in the family, should have an impact on my daily life.  But everything's business as usual.  There will be no funeral or formal service.  We'll have some sort of memorial -- a dinner, my dad suggests -- sometime in October.  I call my dad after work and we talk for a little while.  I wish there was something I could do to make him feel better. 

I feel so sad when I think of what my dad is going through.  And I feel guilty; maybe I should have tried harder, called more.  I should certainly have paid the extra five bucks for expedited shipping on the wedding photos my dad wanted to show them to her.  I hope they go there in time for her to see them.

I don't know what to do, but I need to tell someone: my grandmother died yesterday. 

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