ride or die

at least three (four?) people die in this article

as bruno mars once said,
he’d catch a grenade for you.
he’d do anything for you.

those are lyrics neither of my grandpas ever heard
they were both dead before the song came out.
but had they heard it,
they would’ve felt it in their bones.

because once they cared about you,
they’d go down with the ship.
even if it wasn’t sinking.
even if you didn’t ask.

they both died fast
after being diagnosed with full-body cancer.
they probably could’ve lived longer
if they’d gone in sooner
but they didn’t want to worry my grandmas.
so they waited.
and then they died.

i inherited that kind of stubbornness.
not the quiet kind.
not exactly.

my care is obvious.
loud, even.
but the part i got from them is the way it sticks.
the way it decides.
once i care about you,
that’s it.
you’re in.
whether you show up or not.
whether you stay or don’t.
i will want good things for you
long after you’ve forgotten my name.

bruno mars, by the way,
recently canceled two countries on his UK tour
due to active warfare.
so.
he probably wouldn’t catch a grenade for you.
but my grandpas would.
absolutely.
without blinking.
for better or worse.
usually worse.

after one of them died,
i moved in with my grandma for a month.
she had dementia.
she didn’t always know who i was,
but she still taught me more in those weeks
than most people ever try to.

so no,
i’m not mad.
and i’m not disappointed.

i’ve just learned to notice
when someone’s halfway out the door
before they realize it themselves.
and i don’t take it personally anymore.

people say i forgive too easily.
that i should protect my heart.
but i’m stubborn.
in the dumb way.
in the loyal way.

and i still hope
the people who leave
find what they were looking for.
even if it’s not here.


rach 
ps.
bruno mars, pick a struggle.
you can’t be that short and a liar.
choose one.

authors note:

this all came to me after a friend’s grandma passed.
we hadn’t talked in a while, but something nudged me to reach out that day.
he sent me a photo of a porcelain giraffe from her house
and it reminded me so much of my own grandma,
(she called me her giraffe)
and what it felt like to lose her.

it brought back a lot of thoughts about family,
about the way we carry things without realizing it,
about the kind of love that looks like silence
but is actually devotion.

this is about my grandpas, kind of.
and about the ways we quietly inherit things.
grief, tenderness,
and the dumb loyalty that makes you want to shield people
from things they aren’t even afraid of yet.