A Bittersweet September

I'm going to go in a different direction with this posting, so before you read, pardon me. This one is about September. This month is strange. It's bittersweet as the title says. It starts out nice with Labor Day. My birthday and Natasha's birthday fall in September, as do birthdays for some other relatives. But the bitter part of September is on September 7th and September 26th. I lost two significant people. My grandma Dora died on September 7, 1989. So much time has passed, I've learned to live with her death, but don't mistake, I miss her more than anyone can imagine, and I have nothing but the fondest memories a grandmother could've given a grandson--something Natasha and I want for our son.
My other grandmother Dorothy (Bubby, as most people know her) died 3 days before my birthday in 2005. Some gift. The best gift would have been to learn that what went on at the time was just a nightmare and that Bubby was going to be fine. What went on was plain and simple--symptoms of congestive heart failure went undetected until it was too late. Everyone grieves differently. I still sob. I still wonder why the symptoms were never detected. I still wonder why she hasn't called. I try to wonder what she would tell me on the phone. I yearn to hear her boisterous laugh. I stop when I smell Ralph Lauren perfume--I hope its her. I wonder why it was her time. I sometimes still can't believe she's gone. I saw her in her coffin--she didn't respond--You think that'd be enough. I can't understand how I lived in denial of how sick she was--maybe I didn't know. Maybe I didn't want to know. I always thought she was invincible. She overcame so many hurdles. She buried a child when she was 28. She buried a husband when she was 32 and 59. She beat a stroke, uterine cancer, and lung cancer. So, why would I have any reason not to believe she would beat this. In 1992, she called to wish me a happy 15th birthday and told me she was cancer-free. She asked me what I wanted for my birthday. I told her I got it and ran away and I cried. She was the kind of person you wanted on your side--not against you. She listened; she gave advice; she was always there though she was 3000 miles away. I'd wait weeks for her to come to NY, but the two or three she would stay would go so quick. I'd blink and we'd be unloading her luggage at the airport again. I always wish she hadn't moved to California. She's the grandmother who made the frown a smile; always had time for a 'what's doing' phone call; never missed a major occasion or a chance to be with her grandchildren--especially me. She was one of my best friends. I could be me comfortably. There were no stipulations. I absolutely loved making her laugh--even until the very end. She was easy to make laugh--whether it was an impression, a snide remark, or just something amusing. It was the best--like a good time you never want to leave. It was hard though--Her laugh went silent. My happiness turned to sadness. For someone who had the tough life she did, she was more normal than most people who hadn't gone through the shit she had. I miss her terribly. My heart still aches. It still hurts--Alot. I still can't watch my wedding video, where she and I danced to the song, "Through The Years," by Kenny Rogers. We danced to that at my bar mitzvah 17 years ago. I can't listen to the song. I think back through the years, and wish I could have 28 more that were just like the first 28. So many good times. So much fun. But I guess all good things come to an end.