Music has a way of holding on to the people we have lost, carrying their memory in every note. You Are My Sunshine sung by Zach Bryan, has become that song for me, a reminder of my grandma and the light she brought into my life, even after her passing.
The first time I heard “You Are My Sunshine” playing on my mom’s car speakers, I was taken aback by it. I have only ever heard it come out of my grandmother’s mouth. I never realized that someone else knew our song.
I was sitting on my grandma’s front porch, swinging back and forth as the summer air wrapped around us. “You Are My Sunshine” became our song. It was not just a melody to me; it was her voice, her warmth, her way of making me feel safe no matter what storms were coming our way. And on August 16, 2021, when the world paused for a second, it was the only light I could cling to.
My grandmother had dementia for a little under a year, and once that disease took hold of her, everything happened so fast. One moment, she was sitting smiling with us, asking us to take her on long car rides, and the next, she was slipping further away each day. By the end, my whole family was packed shoulder to shoulder in my aunt’s and uncle’s house, just waiting. The air was thick with sadness and tears. I wanted to believe this was all a dream, but once I stepped into their home and saw her lying there, quiet and frail, reality crashed down onto me.
I watched as my mom tried to keep everyone together. I saw Louie, who never cried, break apart. My dad stood on the porch, too scared of reliving the pain of losing someone so important to him again. But Vinny, my eldest brother, was my anchor. He kept reminding me that everything happens for a reason, everything will be okay, even though deep down I knew the truth, I still believed him.
Every detail from this day is carved into my head like it happened yesterday—the ugly orange glow inside the room. The scent of flowers is supposed to bring happiness, but it reminds me of endings. I blinked and suddenly I took it all for granted – the Dairy Queen trips, porch swings, late-night laughs – were gone. Time moved so fast, and I hated myself for wishing away moments. I could have stayed longer, hugged tighter, and listened longer.
The night before she passed, something crazy happened. Peyton, my neighbor, walked into the room, and she was able to open her eyes for the first time in days. She was even able to mumble her words. That was the last time I saw her be interactive with us. For one last small second, life was brought back into her, as if she was not ready to let go of us just yet. It was a reminder that when people fade, their love and caring for us do not.
After that, I hoped that she would be okay. As she took her last breath on earth with us, her best friend, her sister, sat right beside her. Seeing her be so upset broke me. My whole body shook in grief. I was not exactly sure at 13 years old how to carry that feeling with myself; nothing exactly made sense in my mind.
Finally, after hours of silence, the mood shifted, and we played Monopoly like kids again. We slowly began to laugh and were able to talk, maybe clinging to the idea that moving forward did not mean forgetting. My grandma would not have wanted us to stay frozen in grief. She would have wanted us to move forward to live our lives, to cherish our time together, to carry her with us in every smile, every memory, and every note of her song.
Now, when I hear “You Are My Sunshine,” I don’t just hear a random song sung by any artist; I hear her voice singing me this song to me on her front porch swing, her love she poured into everyone’s life. I think of this day, although a sad day, it reminds me of the wonderful role model she was for me and my family. She made such an impact on my life. And I remember that although time can stop for a moment, and people can leave, the moments we shared have the possibility to stay with us together forever. That she is my sunshine in my life.
