I can’t believe that it’s been 3 years since I lost my grandma, my friend. My memories with her are still so vivid…
• Garish orange, yellow, and green Tupperware stashed in her cupboard containing cookies stale from summer’s humidity.
• Her fingers, knuckles swollen with arthritis, clutching a hand of cards.
• Red raspberries we cousins snuck from her bushes.
• The taste of her lemonade. No one made it better.
And later . . .
• Her laughter crackling over the phone when she told me the stories of trying and failing to live up to her mother’s expectations.
• The citrus smell of Constant Comment tea as we sat at her little table talking . . . especially after I found out my parents were splitting for good.
• Her still form in the casket across the room. I couldn’t bear to get closer and really see.
This last weekend, before it registered that it was the anniversary of Gramma’s death, I started going through my grandparent’s WWII era papers. My grandfather’s sprawling notes about airplane props and engines, my grandmother’s diary from her college days, his denied request to be trained as a helicopter pilot in the 1950’s.
It makes me think about the differences between my life and theirs. The things I wish I had and the things I’m glad I don’t.
Despite the fact I’m not quite done with my first book, I’m beginning to see pieces of the next one. Maybe I’ll find her again in it and get one last word of advice. “Find your way, sweetheart . . . find your way.”
Regardless, I’m thankful for the things my Gramma taught me and looking forward to talking with her again some day.
Love you Gramma. See you again soon.