“Oh... you just look so beautiful.”
Grandpa always greeted me as his “beautiful girl,” but this time it was different. His voice broke and his tears began to form, the weight of his words hit me harder than ever. I stood tall. I smiled and told him I loved him, that I will always be his beautiful girl. Once I hugged him goodbye and left, I cried in my car, at home, in my room, and at my vanity.
When I looked down at my sparkly green dress, and at the sequins that rubbed off on my hands and arms, I realized this moment will be stuck with me forever, like the little sequins stuck to me. This day was the last day my grandpa saw me, but it wasn’t the last day I saw him.
While getting ready for his funeral, slipping on the same dress I wore for my grandma’s funeral a couple months before, I tearfully looked down at my hand. There it was – a little green sequin.
“Oh… you just look so beautiful.”
A smile creeps across my face. Balling my hands loosely, the little green sequin still in my grasp, I know I can do this. I can stand strong. This little green sequin and I make our way through the day that is full of grief, with our heads up high and hearts full. My grandpa's voice and words echo in my chest every time I glance at that little green sequin, giving me an odd sense of relief.
Every now and then, I find a little green sequins in my car, my room, and on my vanity. They stick to me like the memory of my grandpa: his words, his voice, his tears. The warm Marburger 2 embrace of these little green sequins and the comfort they provide me when I find them is enough to get me through every bump and hill grief presents.
Coping is a process that takes more than a day; it happens in steps, big or small. Each sequin is more than a round plastic disc; it is a milestone toward growth. So, I believe in the little green sequins.
