I began 2026 covered in confetti and glitter. My mom bought those confetti things that you twist, and they explode all over the floor. And everyone laughed at the fact that it had all landed perfectly on me and nobody else. So, I figured this would be my year; nothing bad can happen, nothing bad is supposed to happen. People don’t start the new year glittering and then have it nose-dive two weeks in. But I mean, I guess you can’t really predict the future, huh? Which was incredibly silly of me, but I guess I just wanted to be immune to reality.
My grandma and I have had the rockiest relationship known to man. I stopped talking to her from the ages of 17 to just last year, when I was unceremoniously forced to live in Peru for a couple of months. And in between Friday night dinners and family parties, I guess the frost melted, not entirely, but enough for people to notice, enough for me to notice.
I’ve never met a woman who could party and drink until the early hours of the morning better than her 20-something grandsons and nieces. While I would leave around 2 am, she’d stay until breakfast time. I think between that and her overpowering presence, I couldn’t imagine her just not being there one day. I was right, in a way, because she’s still around, kicking and dancing, but I think for the first time in my life I’m going to have to cherish my time with her. Because she recently got diagnosed with an illness that’s pretty aggressive. We all know what it is, rhymes with dancer, ironically enough.
When I got told the news, I didn’t really know what to do with it, so I kind of just ignored it, which led me to feel incredibly guilty because maybe I should have agonized over it longer. Mulled it over between my teeth a little longer, chewed on it until it became mush, and swallowed it. I told my best friend, and now I’m thinking that might have been a mistake because maybe if I just let it settle between my shoulder blades and live there, it would have stayed somewhat of a folktale. A murmur, whisper, a theory. Present but deniable. I’m thinking if something bad does happen, then maybe it’ll be my fault, which I know isn’t true, but my brain doesn’t care for logic at the moment.
I have imagined standing at her casket for years, relationship tattered, words unspoken. I’ve dreamt of the things I would say to her, the ways in which she singlehandedly caused me pain with only her presence. Maybe I’d tell her I stood at the edge of our parties because I didn’t feel welcomed into her solar system. I’ve thought of telling her how much I despise that she picked him over me. The years she let him live in her house, dotted on him, nursed him to health, bought him gifts, bragged about him, as if I had ceased to exist the day I decided to come forth with what he’d done to me for years. During chilly mornings, behind cracked wooden doors, and finally, under damp, old, smelly bedsheets.
But now, now I’m not sure I even want that opportunity. Because the only reason this hurts is because I love her despite it all.
I can’t pretend it isn’t love because between screaming matches, whispered insults, dropped gazes, between the miles of space I have crafted so carefully was love screaming out in pain.
If I didn’t love her, if I had ever stopped loving her, I would never have cared so much about the way she had discarded me, hurt me. I wouldn’t be feeling this pain—grief, pulling at my arms, heavy and steady as the snow falls atop my head. I wouldn’t be standing in freezing temperatures, smoking, not knowing how to go about this situation.
Maybe it isn’t even that bad, which is what I keep telling myself because she’ll be fine, she’ll be fine. She has to be fine. There’s no reason to get all worked up about this. People survive this and worse every day of the week, so why would this be any different? I probably am overreacting. She’ll be fine. Nothing is actually wrong; it’s just scary and unexpected. I don’t know.
Maybe the glitter landed on the wrong person this year.