October 30th, 2019

⁣⁣⁣This October sunset was different than the others. It marked the end of the first day I spent in a world without the most important person in my life: my grandmother.

I stood in our front yard after the sun tucked below the horizon, keeping an eye on the faint moon in the twilight sky. The moon has long been my connection to Nana — the midway point for the distance our love would travel for one another. “Love you to the moon...” she would say before I jumped in with “and back, always.”

Hours before Nana passed away, I noticed the sliver of a moon competing for attention with the colorful evening sky. I walked into her hospice room and quietly described the scene, and added that the moon was “tilted on its side and ready to catch rain water.” She used to walk outside and say funny little things like that, so I thought she’d enjoy this update from the outside world that she hadn’t seen in 5 weeks. 

But that October evening, she didn’t respond and appeared to be asleep. Squeezing her hand, I softly told her that I loved her, just as I had nearly every hour for the 48 hours prior. 

As the sun set one day later, I stood outside and searched the sky for answers about what life would be like without the woman who meant everything to me. How would I ever be able to look up at the bright moon after a tough day and not hear her voice as she tells me she’s “looking up at the same moon from afar,” and it’s connecting us? Will I always find myself looking to the sky with hope that I will see her? That I will feel her with me? 

...

These have been the toughest months of my life, and these last few weeks have been almost unbearable. Nan has been my anchor since she took me in her home when I was 7 years old, and it’s unnerving to feel so adrift without her.⁣⁣⁣ It’s impossible to lose a parent — but it’s also impossible to ignore how much you carry them in your mind and actions in the days that follow such a loss.

Every night, I find myself peeking up at the night sky trying to find her. I can almost hear her telling me to listen to my thoughts, especially now when everything feels so heavy and unfamiliar. Or, how it’s okay to not to feel okay, and that I can lean on others for support (and then she’d joke about my fierce independence that I "didn't inherit from her!"). 

She’d encourage me to continue to find beauty in the colorful swirls of the evening sky, even if I can only muster my enthusiasm for a few minutes.  She’d nudge me to look up at the night sky and feel a little burst of energy from the moon’s glow. She’d tell me that it isn’t enough to simply survive; life isn’t meant to be lived like that. You’ve got to thrive. She’d tell me to keep looking up — to keep moving forward — as the world spins madly on.

Even though I know these things in my heart, I simply miss the act of her guiding me. Every sunset is also a gentle reminder of why I move through the day and through the world in the way that I do — and it’s because of her.

To all those who loved her, thank you for being there for our family. 

Love you to the moon and back, Nancy “Nana” Carroll Carl.