On Saturday night, my Omi passed away.
I talk a lot about my German traits, but don't often tell of where they came from. I guess that would partly be from my Omi; my dad's mother. She was a feisty one, and had a certain way of voicing her negative opinions that everyone kinda came to expect. That was just Omi.
But as I sat here at my desk on Sunday morning, crying over the news, the very things that we may not have considered her best traits suddenly became "the things she'll never do again". And I automatically missed them. She won't be telling me that my hair is too dark, too light, too long or too short. She won't critique my boyfriends based solely on their appearance. She won't pick a favourite between me and my sister, only to change her mind the next time we saw her.
These were the things that drove us crazy. And somehow... I miss those things greatly.
In the end, it was hard to see her worsen in that bed over the past couple of years. Her spark was gone. She didn't even tell me I was wearing too much black or that I was too pale - she rarely knew who I was anymore. I was merely just a friendly stranger who would visit, say "Love you, Omi" and kiss her on the cheek. Nothing more.
Sometimes the end is for the best, and we rely on the good memories to keep people alive. For me, I'll remember the times when I was little and she'd sing German songs. Or how she always let me hold the pretty crystal that I was so sure was worth a bajillion dollars. And I can't help but smile when I think of how she told me that I had to marry the Prince of Monaco (pronounced mo-NAH-co, of course), or maybe that nice-looking Leonardo DiCaprio boy because he visited his German grandmother every weekend. She also liked to ask if I had posters of Rick Springfield up on my wall, and if I was yet dating my fun (also gay, though she begged to differ) friend Kevan.
It's these memories that I'll hold onto.
Rest in peace, Omi.