The Hand that let go

I used to know one wonderful old grandma. She wasn’t mine. She was my husband’s.

But from the very beginning I've felt her kind heart and pure smile. It was like my soul already knew.

She died last year, at a time when my mental health wasn’t good… well, actually, it was worse than that. Way worse. I was like someone holding onto a straw, barely staying alive, trying not to drown in water over my head.

And somehow, without even knowing, she was the calm shore I kept swimming toward.

I remember that day very well. The day she died. Like I said, she wasn’t my blood, but I loved her like my own grandma, because she treated me like her own grandchild. And my actual grandma was already gone from this world, so it all felt deeply heartwarming.

The day we had our last coffee together, she was feeling very bad. It wasn’t the first time. She had just returned from the hospital.

At first, she seemed fine.

A sunny day. Green nature around us. The wind slow and warm, not warning us of anything.

Everything looked peaceful — the kind of peace that later shatters into hurting silence.

After our coffee, I went home (which was just across the street). I came back to see how she was doing… and that’s when I called for help. She couldn’t breathe. Water started filling her lungs. I felt so helpless. My kids were with me too. They didn’t know exactly what was happening, but they could feel that something was very wrong. I felt bad they had to witness something they had yet to understand, but still felt probably more than they should.

I tried my best to stay calm — for her sake, and for the kids’ sake too.

When our neighbours came, they drove her to the ER. She died in the car, seconds after they put her in. I saw her hand peeking out of the car as they tried to settle her in — falling down like a sad, disappointed rose. Life leaving her, not asking any of us if we were ready. And I certainly wasn’t. At that moment I knew. But I lied to myself, like the truth wouldn't find its way to me.

After that day, nothing was the same. She was my only escape, the only person I could talk to when everyone else just didn’t listen.

Sometimes we didn’t even talk about problems — we talked about the weather, memories, or nothing at all, just sipping coffee, enjoying the good weather and my kid's laughter echoing through the village. It was enough.

When others disrespected me, humiliated me — just as they did her — she was there. Sometimes acting as if nothing had happened, sometimes comforting me. Every time, she knew exactly what I needed, or at least it felt that way.

Her coffee was always the same — the only one I could drink, as someone who hated coffee. It was warm, sweet, and carried a special taste of pure love that no one else ever had.

I always treated her the way she treated me — with love, kindness, and understanding. She had a very hard life. She’d been through so much. That’s why I admired her gentleness. Through all those years of suffering, she managed to keep her warm, kind heart. Some people in the village never truly saw that — the same ones who caused trouble for me too.

Even today, I hear from others how she talked about me — always in the best possible way.

She told everyone how I was the only one who visited her regularly (and it’s true — almost every day). I can see now how much it meant to her. Old people often don’t have anyone to talk to. I’m grateful I got to be the one to spend time with her. To be the last one she drank coffee with. It feels special.

Especially because I didn’t get to be there when my grandparents died.

When I was drowning, she didn’t save me — she was just existing while I was building my own wall of security. And again, it was enough.

So, my dear people — always be caring. Always be gentle. Always carry a smile and offer it to others. You never know when a small act of kindness can change someone’s day, or even someone’s life.

Don’t grow into a grumpy, angry person, frustrated by those who seem to have it better. Because in reality, no one does. Everyone is struggling. Everyone is fighting their own battles. Some are just better at hiding it than others. And besides — helping someone else also helps your own heart heal. 🤍

From heart

Through words

A ✨