don't ask
I want to cry out "How many friggin' more people are going to die this year??!!!" But it's a question I know way better than to ask. My brother said to me that we don't have any grandparents, and only one parent left. That's a sad and chilling thought.
Right now I'm in what my husband calls "field marshal mode." This means that I'm thinking practically, being rational, keeping in control. It doesn't mean that I'm not sad, it just means that I'll deal with the emotional stuff later. At my dad's memorial, I didn't cry. In fact, folks probably thought I was heartless. That's just how I am, I guess.
Rationally, Gram is in a much better place. All my life she was the feistiest white-haired lady I ever met. She could tell a dirty joke, eat hot peppers, went to church a lot, was fiercely independent. She would have hated lying comatose in a bed, being changed and fed, and she would have hated "inconveniencing" my mom and the family. She always told me not to mourn when she died; she said she had a full and happy life and that I could be sad and miss her, but not mourn. Tonight, I'm thinking of her house, all the blues and antiques. The flowers, she planted pink Martha Washington geraniums every spring. Her laugh, which I can't even describe.
When I would go see her in Helena, she would always take me out to the tomato farm for fresh tomatos. She knew that I didn't get those in Alaska, and I loved 'em. I'd eat a tomato and cheese sandwich. Yum. My second year in Unalakleet, I got a Fed Ex package delivered by air. It was a box of fresh hothouse tomatos. There must have been 30 of them, and who knows how much she spent on shipping. But it was cool, and it was the kind of thing my gram did.
She kept sending my kids these cool tie-dye t-shirts the past several years. I finally asked her about it, and she said there was this really funky little shop close to where she got her taxes done, so she would stop in when she was near there. She loved the colors of the shirts, figured her Goldstream Alaskan grandkids would wear them. She once told me that this shop had all of these beautiful glass sculptures, they almost looked like little pipes or something. Aww gram, were you really that naive? The thought of this little white haired lady stopping in to admire pipes still makes me laugh.
I could tell Grammie stories all night, but I'm not going to. I'm just kinda sad, while also glad she's out of her suffering with no life quality. I'm worried about my sis, and my mom, and for that fact my brother too.
I know we'll all be okay. But sometimes that's a hard light to see.
Right now I'm in what my husband calls "field marshal mode." This means that I'm thinking practically, being rational, keeping in control. It doesn't mean that I'm not sad, it just means that I'll deal with the emotional stuff later. At my dad's memorial, I didn't cry. In fact, folks probably thought I was heartless. That's just how I am, I guess.
Rationally, Gram is in a much better place. All my life she was the feistiest white-haired lady I ever met. She could tell a dirty joke, eat hot peppers, went to church a lot, was fiercely independent. She would have hated lying comatose in a bed, being changed and fed, and she would have hated "inconveniencing" my mom and the family. She always told me not to mourn when she died; she said she had a full and happy life and that I could be sad and miss her, but not mourn. Tonight, I'm thinking of her house, all the blues and antiques. The flowers, she planted pink Martha Washington geraniums every spring. Her laugh, which I can't even describe.
When I would go see her in Helena, she would always take me out to the tomato farm for fresh tomatos. She knew that I didn't get those in Alaska, and I loved 'em. I'd eat a tomato and cheese sandwich. Yum. My second year in Unalakleet, I got a Fed Ex package delivered by air. It was a box of fresh hothouse tomatos. There must have been 30 of them, and who knows how much she spent on shipping. But it was cool, and it was the kind of thing my gram did.
She kept sending my kids these cool tie-dye t-shirts the past several years. I finally asked her about it, and she said there was this really funky little shop close to where she got her taxes done, so she would stop in when she was near there. She loved the colors of the shirts, figured her Goldstream Alaskan grandkids would wear them. She once told me that this shop had all of these beautiful glass sculptures, they almost looked like little pipes or something. Aww gram, were you really that naive? The thought of this little white haired lady stopping in to admire pipes still makes me laugh.
I could tell Grammie stories all night, but I'm not going to. I'm just kinda sad, while also glad she's out of her suffering with no life quality. I'm worried about my sis, and my mom, and for that fact my brother too.
I know we'll all be okay. But sometimes that's a hard light to see.
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