I Should've Asked You Questions

I still remember the last words I told my Nana when she was still coherent: “Good luck with your surgery. I’ll see you soon. I love you!” Except I never saw her soon—at least never in the same way. I didn’t know that would be the last time we would have a normal conversation. I said an off-handed goodbye to my Grandpa when I went off to school in fall 2020, sure that I would see him over Thanksgiving. But I only saw him again to say my final goodbyes. 

Many have the luxury of properly saying their goodbyes to their loved ones in their final moments, but I had no idea those moments were—well, final. Grandparents, at least for me, were major members of my family. As Rory Gilmore so eloquently put it, they were my “twin pillars without whom I could not stand.” Although I have stood since their deaths, it has not been as tall or strong. 

My dad’s parents died when he was a child, so I unfortunately never met them. Because of this, I always cherished the two living grandparents I did have: my mom’s parents.

My Nana and Grandpa showed up and supported me through every event, big or small, in my life. They were the type to go to every sports game, every school concert (no matter how bad we sounded), and every birthday. Their personalities were quite unalike (which is probably why they divorced when my mom was young): my grandpa was outgoing and outspoken, always telling jokes and letting everyone know exactly how he felt; my nana was more reserved and laidback, one of the most patient and kind people I’ve ever met. But despite all their differences, they did have one thing in common: their love for their grandchildren. 

As the name suggests, my grandparents served as an extended set of parents throughout my childhood and teenage years. They made me feel like I was capable of anything, and as an insecure youngest child, that meant the world to me. To have such a strong unconditional love from someone other than your parents was integral to my upbringing and ambitions. 

I always expected these hugely important people to be at equally important events in my life, like my college graduation or my wedding. Even though my Grandpa was constantly calling Emerson “Emmanuel”—to the point where I gave up correcting him—he was always showing people my articles and bragging about my writing, and I knew he would want to see me cross that stage. Because of both of their sudden declines, I had to carry the weight of my grief and the “what-ifs” of not being able to say a proper goodbye to them.

Art by James Sullivan

I melted into a puddle of tear-filled grief when I first heard “marjorie” on Taylor Swift’s evermore, a track about her grandmother who died when she was a teenager. The lines “I should’ve asked you questions / I should’ve asked you how to be” cut through me every time I hear them. Because these losses were unexpected, I didn’t accommodate for our time being cut short.

As I’ve grown older, I’ve realized that in my youth, I didn’t see my grandparents as real people with real lives outside of being a grandparent. I spent so much time with both of them, but I feel like there’s so much I still don’t know about them. Being a grandparent was an important chapter for them, but not their full story. There are a million questions I would ask them if I could, but I never got the chance to. I would ask them about their lives instead of always blabbing about my own, or I’d seek advice on adulthood. I would savor every moment with them, maybe even document them in writing. I would set aside my teen angst and be more grateful for them. 

I mourn the fact that they never got to see 21-year-old college senior Jess, a still fiery but more mellowed-out young woman who tries to be patient and gracious like her Nana, and passionate and selfless like her Grandpa. I wish I could tell them that I’m graduating early, studying in Los Angeles, interning for the Boston Globe, and writing, as always—and I know they would be proud. 

As more time passes since I lost my grandparents, my memory of them has gotten hazier. Especially with my Nana, it’s hard for me to picture a time in which she wasn’t quietly struggling through her cancer. Pictures help trigger some memories, but it’s still foggy. I’m not a particularly spiritual person, so I never know if anyone is actually listening when I talk to them during times of trouble, loneliness, and pride—though I would like to believe they are. My dorm overlooks the State House, where my Nana used to work, and when the sun reflects off its gold dome, I like to think my Nana is smiling at me. 

Don’t get me wrong, I love the rest of my family, and I’m more than grateful for their love and support, but I still feel a massive void in my life without my grandparents. Grief is never easy, and losing a grandparent—or all of them—is particularly difficult, especially when they played such important roles in your life. If you’re lucky enough to still have grandparents in your life, enjoy the little moments while you can. 

But if you’re like me and no longer have these people with you, “hold onto the memories; they will hold onto you” (yes, another Taylor Swift reference, what can I say?). Write down everything you remember, look back on old pictures, reminisce and ask your relatives about them, or talk to them directly about your life. Just because they’re gone, doesn’t mean their memories are.