COVID took Nanny away in January. The days since have been a lesson in grief

This is a First Person column by Allison Stoodley, a marketing advisor in the energy industry. For more information about CBC's First Person stories, please see the FAQ.

A quick Google search tells me grief is defined as "deep sorrow, especially that caused by someone's death."

This winter, I've learned that grief is something you know nothing about until it hits you in the face, and you have no choice but to learn.

You learn it as you experience it. It's excruciating. Overwhelming. All-consuming. It takes control of your day.

Alice Antle (née Malone) tested positive for COVID-19 in early January. The relentless, horrible virus robbed her from us on Jan. 16. She was 75.

Alice was my grandmother; I called her Nanny. She had four children and 10 grandchildren. She absolutely loved bingo, Hallmark movies, green tea and spending time with her family.

The days of uncertainty leading up to losing her felt like a lifetime. Our lives came to a halt as we waited for news from her medical team, waited to talk with her on the phone, waited to see what was going to happen.

I live on the other side of the country from Nanny and the rest of our Newfoundland family. In a pre-pandemic world, I could have hopped on a plane to be there. However, we have still been living this nightmare of a pandemic, so it wasn't that simple, especially in the Omicron wave of early January.

On the night of Jan. 15, Nanny and I FaceTimed. I cried as she told me I'm going to be OK. I thanked her for everything she's ever done for me. She told me she fought so hard. We had a few minutes, and they were truly special.

Ten hours later, she was gone.

That's when the grief started. The shock. The upset stomach, the tears, the denial. The lack of appetite and sleep. The super-fast heartbeat.

I fully recognize grieving is difficult no matter what, where or when. But the perspective I am writing from is this: your grandmother (who doubled as a best friend, who you lived with for years) contracted a deadly virus and was taken from this world and her family in less than two weeks. You are on the other side of Canada. You can't be near all your other grieving family members.

You can't gather at your grandmother's house to dig through old photo albums. You can't hug your mom, who just lost her mom. You're struggling mentally with the fact your grandmother just spent 12 days in the hospital, without any visitors due to restrictions.

I did whatever I could to find strength. Nanny was a strong person and she exemplified that during her last days.