January 14, 2006
Is it weirder that she died on Friday the 13th or that it was Tommy's birthday? Or that I cried endlessly this past week waiting for her to die, but can't cry at all a day after she really did die? And all I can feel right now is the knot in my chest and all I can see are memories floating in and out. I remember sitting on her front porch, feeling pretty, just Grandmom, Angela, and me, waving at the cars that drove past because the one that waved back was a keeper. And she would only wear pink lipstick. And when she cooked, she would let Angela and me stand on chairs to get things out of cupboards. Late nights and cinnamon apples. The four metallic cups- blue, green, yellow, and the pink one was mine- one for each of us. Sunday dinners. "Whatever floats your boat" and "Know what I mean, Jellybean?" She was the first person I told that I wanted to start shaving my legs. (It's ironic that she prided herself with having a great pair of legs and it ended up being the thing that killed her) Our games of truth and dare and the famous Ken. Egg hunts and egg nog. Thunder and lightening is nothing but the angels bowling. All Come All Ye Faithful.
And this past week, when it was indescribable how hard it was to try to smile when I knew that there wasn't much time left. And how she smiled when I said she was pretty. (On a birthday card, she wrote, "Rose are red, violets are blue, guess what?, I'm prettier than you! Ha ha ha) She kept her sense of humor and her temper up until the last time I saw her conscious. I so badly wanted to give her water and apple sauce. And the docter talking to us while we sat in the waiting room--telling us quite bluntly that she was to go to hospice and go quietly. I couldn't take it. I broke down. And I had to go back to the room to say goodbye and I told her I loved her and she said in a muffled voice through the breathing mask, "I love you too." Those were the last words we said to each other and I'm glad for it, but it still hurts. And "What a Wonderful World" began on the radio as I walked out of hospice for the last time.
January 18, 2006
The person who she was, in all of those pictures, didn't deserve to die, but the person she became was better off that way.
January 24, 2006
I've never really thought about my religious beliefs or defined them, but at a time like this, I hope there's a heaven for her sake. For people so pure and unconsciously and consciously selfless, there needs to be that utopia after life. There has to be that reward. (If not, then why live?)
Since she died, I've found myself questioning everything. More importantly, I've thought about her so much and remembered all of these things I thought I'd forgotten. And because I've accepted her death but I'm still selfishly grieving, I'll think about her a lot every day for a long time.
And I hope we keep the house.
February 4, 2006
I find myself listening to Frank Sinatra a lot and smiling to myself and trying so hard not to cry that I have a permanent headache. I've accepted it in the sense that the suffering needed to end and she was too good for the life she'd been living. (I blame them for her deteriorating health these last several years. And I hate them for taking advantage of her and taking everything they could possibly take.) But what I cannot accept is that I'll never see her again. See her smile. Hear her sing (because god knows she loved to sing). Smell the Red Door perfume. (For some reason, I associate her perfume with the purple Royal Crown pouch that kept change in.) I wanted her to see me graduate from high school and go to college. I found an old birthday card she gave to me. She signed it," P.S. I'm real proud of you." I want to make her proud, to be the first of her descendents to complete college.
When will I stop grieving? Will I stop grieving? How will I know? Do I want to stop anyway? Because at least this way my memories of her are fresh in my mind and I haven't forgotten.