Content Warning: This is a rambling post about loss. The subject matter is sad and there will be typos since I cried while writing it.

It’s been a rough week. My Yaiyai, born in 1939 in Samos, Greece, passed away this Monday evening, on January 27, 2025. She survived the German occupation of Greece, the Greek Civil War, and countless other world events that thankfully didn’t hit her quite so closely. At the time of her passing, she was surrounded by her last surviving child and his family. Her other two children, her oldest son, and my mom, had both passed away in the last decade.

My mom’s illness and passing hurt Yaiyai deeply, and it was a loss that she was never able to recover from. In the years since my mom passed, Yaiyai seemed like an indomitable spirit. She continued to work at her in-home barbershop well into her 80s; she adopted new pets and cared for them to the best of her ability, and she even joined my sister and me on a few vacations (Bean and I had to plan every detail, but still, she went, and generously insisted on paying for everything, as was her way).

She did slow down, though. After a few years, I had to adopt her dog, Rosie, who needed more physical care than Yaiyai was able to give. The combination COVID-19 Pandemic and her later contracting pneumonia vastly interfered with her ability to operate her barbershop. And our outings became more confined – we ate a lot of Taco Bell and Denny’s in those last years. The normal process of aging, and her grief, contributed to that.

I’m miserable and overwhelmed by her loss, but the truth is that Yaiyai was suffering, and there was nothing I could do to alleviate her pain. My sister and I couldn’t fill the role of my mom (no one could), nor could we stop any of the other sad events in her life that continued to impact her negatively. The best we could do was be a steady presence in her life and try to show up for her.

When I moved away to Washington, that was another blow. When I told her I could potentially be gone for two to five years, she told me, “I’ll be dead by the time you return.” So I was only there for two years. I tried to call as often as I could, but that wasn’t the same as having me physically close. I think my moving back made her happy, but I’m not sure, especially since my goal of moving abroad to pursue a Ph.D. only added to her anxiety. I hate that something I dreamed of- something essential for my happiness- made her so sad.

Even though we were prepared for her loss, it still hurts. Is it selfish that one of my thoughts since Yaiyai passed is, “that’s one less person who loves you”? It feels selfish, but the list of people who love me isn’t exactly a long one. Yaiyai’s love was a constant I could rely on, and without her, it feels like there’s only vacuum.

The news of her passing is not a complete shock. Her health had been in serious decline since the spring of 2023 when she and my sister each contracted the flu, which led to their being hospitalized. Whereas my sister worked incredibly hard to build up her strength and recover, Yaiyai did not have the same experience. She made it clear to me and the rest of my family that she was ready to go.

According to her religion, someday I’ll get to meet her and everyone else on that list again. As a Humanist, I don’t share those beliefs, but it is a nice thought. I hope that I can show even a fraction of the kindness and generosity she demonstrated every day.

I’m so grateful that Yaiyai’s last moments were free of pain. I’m grateful she had my family to take care of her when she needed it. I’m grateful she’s been reunited with two of her children, her siblings, and her own mother, who I know she missed every day. I can take the pain she left behind if it means she can finally find peace.