Loss has always been a large part of my life. By the time I was eight, I was grandparent-less. I never really dealt with any of their losses.
How could I? I was so young. To this day, I still cry and feel overwhelming loss when I think about them. Yet, for my senior column, I felt that talking about them would help me cope and grow past my grief.
From the stories I was told, my grandparents were some of the best people in my parents’ lives. My paternal grandmother, Amparo, was feisty, caring, and funny. My bisabuela (great-grandmother), Clementina, said I was just like her “Amparito.”
Amparo, my grandmother and namesake, died of stomach cancer in 1997. Her last meal before her stomach was removed was from Taco Bell. My maternal grandmother, Maria Nelly, was my best friend, stubborn, loving, and cuddly.
One thing about her is that she absolutely hated mushrooms. That was until my dad snuck them into a burger. After that, she asked for them to be on almost every meal. She died when I was four, in 2011.
My paternal grandfather was, to me, a vampire who went to the bathroom a lot. Whenever we called him, it was late at night and he was in there—almost every single call. His funeral is the only one I remember.
He was in the Army and retired before I was born, so at his funeral, there was the 21-gun salute and the folding of the American flag. I remember holding it and having so much anxiety about dropping it. My maternal grandfather, Juan, was more chill; he liked Chevrolets and his family.
These are the people who raised my parents, all with their own lives and stories that I barely got to experience or learn about. Admitting that is pure melancholy, and I don’t know what to do with that feeling. My parents never really helped me emotionally regulate, nor did my first therapist, whom I met at the ripe age of six. My six-year-old self had “anger issues” and was “very emotionally stunted.”
As I grew, these so-called anger issues manifested into general emotional disregulation. I would either cry constantly or feel nothing, with no in-between. Today, I feel out of touch with emotions. I know what I should feel, but I don’t feel it. Rather, I intellectualize everything.
For a long time, I had attributed this to something inherently wrong with me, yet this appears to be a defense mechanism as time passes. After deep analysis, I think it may stem from profound loss and a lack of coping.
I don’t know if you could tell, but I am an only child. It feels like I was destined to be alone. Everyone around me has someone to rely on, a sibling or a friend, but I don’t. Truly, I have nobody. If you’re thinking, what about my parents? I mean, they are great, but it is not the same.
When I was younger, I had my grandmother. It was more than enough. I had a best friend whom I could tell anything to, and I had my back. She died when I was four. Since then, I developed FOMO, or the fear of missing out. Instead of party FOMO, I have relationship FOMO, both in friendship and relationships.
I feel as though none of my friends really know me, that my whole personality is a cover for everything wrong with me. It hides my vulnerability to the point of harshness. I have built a wall around my heart and feelings.
When I let people close, they have always let me down. They left. Some of it has been my fault. Too harsh jokes, a lack of genuine empathy, and self-centeredness are highlights. While I like to think I am invincible, I realize I am not. When someone leaves, rather than a simple exit, I experience grief. I grieve the friendship. The isolation always builds.
When I was younger, I could never articulate my experiences. I would be sad and cry, but I could not control it. Today, thanks to therapy, I can articulate it, but I still cannot control my tears, at least I can explain. I fear that my friends do not really know me, even those who have been there for me through the tears.
Despite the lack of being seen and FOMO, I am still very thankful for my friends. I feel grateful that someone at least cares for me. My best friends are some of the best people I have ever met. I may not be on their list, but that does not matter. At least they consider me a friend.
I have learned a lot from my friends, both old and new. One of my old best friends taught me so much, from spelling “answer” to being accommodating.
I feel like a mosaic of those whom I have loved and who love me. I can bake hojarascas without fear thanks to my best friend. Another friend is the only reason I applied to my future college. My friends have shown me so much care and love that I can only hope to reciprocate.
To those who have been alongside me on the way, I cannot thank you enough. I cannot wait to continue growing and learning.
Hi, I'm Skye, this is my first year as a student journalist here at the 42Fifty. I am in my senior year and involved in various extracurriculars including, Speech, LASO, and YAG. Follow me on all socials! @eskyeeeeee
