30 Days of Truth Day 3

Today’s question is:  Something you have to forgive yourself for.
This one is going to be deep, and to be completely honest I’m not even sure I can get through it without tears, but I’m going to try.
My maternal grandmother passed away when my mother was very young, sadly I never got to meet the woman who I look almost exactly like or my maternal grandfather either as he died before my grandmother.  Growing up my my great-grandmother(or mamaw as I called her) was my grandma  and I loved her dearly.  Being the second oldest grandchild I had the chance to spend a few years with both of them before they both eventually passed; my papaw who passed when I was barely 2 and my mamaw who passed when I was 13. 
It was my grandmother who I shared secrets with when I was little and who sat patiently playing in the mud with me watching as I made the best mud pies ever, and who taught me to make cherry pie from scratch—those moments still bring tears to my eyes when I think about them, even all these years later.
When my grandmother died it was a very difficult time for me; several years before she passed my grandmother was diagnosed with colon cancer and fought it into remission, but it came back and it came back with a vengeance.  On top of the cancer, that by this time was terminal, my grandmother had been diagnosed with Alzheimer's a few years before.  She was different; she didn’t know where she was most days, she didn’t remember her own children, but she did remember me and that spoke volumes about our relationship. 
I still remember the day she passed like it was yesterday.  I remember the family members being called and told that my grandmother would not make it through the night.  I remember the smell of the nursing home as I sat with my uncle and helped watch my younger cousins in the lobby.  I remember the nurse’s voice that echoed: “Code Blue” and my grandmothers room number over the intercom.  I remember standing paralyzed in the hallway by my grandmothers room.  And I remember one by one my mom, my aunts, and cousins walking into my grandmothers room to say “goodbye.  But I couldn’t move, I couldn’t bring myself to see her that way.  I remember my mom telling me that it was ok and knowing that in my gut I couldn’t possibly go in her room.  So I didn’t go in, I didn’t see her finally at peace, no more pain or confusion, I didn’t say goodbye. 
Not saying goodbye to my grandmother that day, or at her visitation a few days later, is something I have never forgiven myself for.  I remember one of my aunts telling me, “You’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t go up there and see her and say goodbye.” I hated my aunt for the longest time for saying that to me; I was 13, I had never had to deal with death before and I had just lost someone who had been my whole world for as long as I could remember and I didn’t know how to handle it. 
Looking back I realize that even though I didn’t go into her room that night and even though I didn’t go up to her casket and say “goodbye” I did say goodbye, on my own terms and in a way that I was comfortable with.
I miss my mamaw, sometimes so much that it hurts more than it did then, but I know she watches over me and keeps me safe and doesn’t ever once think of the events of that night!
I love you Mamaw Clara!
By the way this was probably the hardest thing I have ever had to write, but I feel so much better knowing that I did!