death is 5 letters. two vowels, three constants, one syllable. if you looked up the definition, it would give you something along the lines of this:
the act of dying; the cessation of life.
but that’s so technical. what is death?
well, none of us know, because we’re all alive. we’ve never experienced what death actually is. so morbid. i know. just let me get to the point.
sorry to start on a somber mood. sometimes we have to ask hard questions and explore them.
it’s been a hard 5 months. when i heard the news of my grandfathers passing back in november, i felt my heart drop to my stomach and my throat close. tears stung my eyes and threatened to cascade past my waterline and down my cheeks, as i gripped my phone tightly and put my hand over my mouth, hearing my mother’s strained, sad voice break the news to me. the fact that i hadn’t seen my extended family in over 2 years put a little more salt in the wound, and guilt started to hit me like waves. how selfish was i to not visit? how selfish of me take an internship for the whole summer? god, how dare you take him away before i got to say goodbye? i immediately left for turkey - threw a couple of random shirts and jeans and borrowed a black dress into a tiny duffle, squeezed my roommates goodbye, and was on my way. i almost didn’t make it - my passport was expiring and i was on the verge of a breakdown in the raleigh durham international airport. i connected with my family at washington dulles, and embraced my mother, crying into her hair and squeezing her. i kept thinking, “oh my god,” and i felt numb. i cried for my mom, i cried for my brother and dad, i cried for my cousins, aunts, uncles, and i cried for my grandmother. as gut-wrenching and hard this time was, jesus was so clearly evidently there. he was there as a friend on my plane to DC, when i sat next to a ncsu soccer player that provided comfort. he was there as a savior on my plane to istanbul, as i sat next to a sweet arabian woman that let me use her shoulder to cry on. he was there at the funeral, as i shook over 500 people’s hands, offering their condolences. he was there when i held my frail yet strong grandmother, he was and still will be there at the times i sit up in the middle of the night and cry, when i think about how entering that house will never be the same, and how many people loved him and celebrated his life. as i sit here, writing this post with tears, i’m left in awe of memories of the wonders my grandfather did during his life. he selflessly helped the sick, delivered so many babies that brought joy to families, he examined my nose and kissed my cheeks when i fell face-first into marble, he made me laugh and always wanted chocolate and ice cream, he loved going to the beach more than anything, he grew fruit trees at his mountain house so that we would always have a vibrant breakfast, he pushed his kids restlessly to pursue their dreams, and he loved everyone equally, and really, really cared for them. thank you jesus. thank you for teaching me that love has no limits - it stretches as far and as wide as you tell it to, letting my grandfather become an epitome of it and always remind me that i am so loved. thank you for the things you have taught me and keep teaching me through the darkest nights and storms.
sometimes i long to wish to have a glimpse of heaven - of what my grandfather is doing now. is he dancing away? is he secretly eating chocolate like he would when he would steal out it out of the cupboard before dinner? is he lying in the grass looking at the sky? is he taking a walk with his friends that he hasn’t seen in a while?
for now, all i need is the comfort and peace that jesus provides. that’s more than enough.
— talya ozbelli
