My love that can never return

The hardest challenge I’ve ever faced was losing my grandmother. We were incredibly close. Her death was not just a loss — it felt like the ground disappeared beneath my feet. I was eighteen, fresh out of high school, full of hope and plans, and suddenly everything seemed meaningless. That moment split my life into “before” and “after.”

We lived together — my parents, grandmother,two brothers,sister and me .My grandmother was beautiful and always well-groomed.She often gave me gifts and always protected me when my mom scolded me for something.

In our family, the person I loved and respected the most was my grandmother.

Because when she was gone, I felt an unbearable emptiness in my heart.

My grandmother and I spent a lot of time together. She didn’t just cook for me or braid my hair — she shared herself, her soul. We read books, watched films, and talked about life. In those conversations, I learned to be silent, to listen, to feel. I felt peace with her — she seemed to know answers to questions I hadn’t even asked.

Sometimes I remember a childhood dream that’s still alive in me. I dreamed I was searching for my real grandmother among ten identical women. They all looked the same, and I couldn’t find her. In the dream, I cried and called her — but I couldn’t distinguish her. When I woke up, I hugged my grandmother tightly and was afraid to let go. Even though I was still a child, I felt a fear inside: “What if one day, she’s gone?” Perhaps the heart understands before the mind does.

I often recall her words:“When I die — just cry for me a little. That’s all I need.”

At the time, I didn’t understand what she meant. Only after her passing did I realize: what she really wanted, was not to be forgotten. For her memory to live on. To stay loved even after death. Now, two years later, I sometimes say to myself: “I remember you. I still love you.”

I remember that day clearly. I came home after an exam and saw that she hadn’t left her room. She was ill. I sat beside her, holding her hand, praying. I appealed to God: “Please, not now. Not her.” But it didn’t help. I remember holding her hand and feeling it grow cold. I couldn’t stop crying. She just quietly passed away. And I was left behind.

But, to be honest, I didn’t always understand other people’s pain. I remember in school, during a self-awareness class, the teacher asked us:

“What do you regret most?”

I don’t remember what I wrote then. But my friend wrote about her grandmother. She regretted being harsh with her. And as she read her essay aloud, she began to cry. I was just sitting there, not knowing what to feel. I couldn’t understand — why is she crying? Can someone’s death hurt that much? Life goes on…

Only years later, when I lost my grandmother, did I truly feel what she must have felt. For me, that was a lesson: someone else’s pain isn’t just a story — it’s someone’s reality. Sometimes, to truly understand another, you must go through your own suffering.

Since then, I’ve seen life differently. I realized I didn’t appreciate moments. I didn’t say simple words. I never told her, “I love you.” We often delay saying such things, as if we have all the time in the world. But we don’t.

This loss taught me the most important lesson — life is not eternal. People leave. But while they’re here, we must tell them how much we love them, how important they are. Now, I try to be attentive, to tell those close to me what they mean to me. Not because it sounds nice — but because it might become too late.

I have changed. I feel more deeply. Sometimes I think I am older than my peers — because I know what real pain feels like. But that pain didn’t destroy me. It taught me strength.

Sometimes I write letters to her in my notebook. I write about my day, my struggles, my hopes. It feels like I’m talking to her — and that gives me comfort.

Even when a person leaves this world, they remain in our memories forever.We keep those memories deep in our hearts.They don’t disappear — they stay with us as something special and warm.Every minute with someone we love is like a golden thread, and we must treasure it.You can’t buy time or bring it back.For me, the moments I shared with my grandmother are incredibly special and precious.

Sometimes my grandmother visits me in my dreams. She smiles and hugs me, just like before. In those moments, I don’t want to wake up. I feel that once I open my eyes, she’ll be gone again. But life doesn’t wait. It keeps moving forward. And I must move with it — no matter what.

I’ve understood that the most important life lessons come through suffering. Losing my grandmother taught me love, compassion, patience. I no longer want to waste time on grievances or empty words. I want to live so I can be with those I care about. I want to be someone she would be proud of.

Thanks to my grandmother, I learned to be kind and patient.She taught me how to treat others with care and softness — not through lessons, but through how she lived.When I make decisions now, I sometimes ask myself: “Would Grandma be proud of this?”And that helps me choose better.

I will never forget it, and I will carry it in my heart.

Life after losing someone changes. But it doesn’t end. It just becomes different. Now, I don’t just live — I live mindfully. I notice every smile, every warm hand, every glance. Because I know: nothing lasts forever.

And if I could go back in time, I would just hug my grandmother tight and say:“Thank you. For everything. And for who I became because of you.”My love — the one I can never return to — never really left.