Gram

When my grandma died last Monday, May 23rd, I sat down next to her and stared out the window, tears spilling down my cheeks....hands in my lap....lost in my thoughts.  My hand went to my head, my head went to my childhood, all my memories wrapped up in the woman lying next to me.  43 trips around the sun, and the next one had to be done without her, for the first time.

I lost my hero, and as I sit writing this, I'm crying again for the first time since I stood up and walked away from her room that day. It's hard to be sad when you think of Gram. She was bigger than life, and as I have stared at the ceiling this week, at 2, 3, even 4 in the morning (more times than I'd care to talk about), overwhelmed by this loss, restless from my helplessness, I have been thinking about all the things that I learned from her.  For right now, I'm recording them old-school in one of my (many many many lol) paper journals. But I can tell you that the one that bubbles up and calls for most of my attention, the one string I keep pulling at that continuously unwinds into more and more thoughts and memories, is that I learned that family is the most important thing in our lives....and that family includes everybody we love, whether we are related to them or not.  Orphaned at 14, she spent the rest of her life reaching out to the abandoned children who were most lost. I learned that there are a lot of them, that you can never run out of love (patience? that's a whole other matter :), and that when you open up your heart and your home amazing things happen.

When I came into the kitchen at Aunt Barbara's, this is the scene that greeted me. I had to laugh. I've seen this exact tableau a hundred thousand times in my life; dudes at one end and chicks at the other, food everywhere, hillbilly folk accounted for, and laughter. The stories were already being told. The old ones that have been perfected over the years and MUST be told by the appropriate person (my family will stop you mid-memory and say, "No, no! Let so-and-so tell it!" haha; new ones that are unfolding and require the input of everybody at the table, and when those stories feel complete and just right, they'll be wrapped back up and trotted out whenever we need them. And we need them a lot. If you had to die, you'd want to do it in my family, because we really do believe (and put into practice) the idea that as long as somebody remembers you and tells your stories, you will live in their hearts, forever, and that's what immortality looks like.

I love her. I know everybody does, she's universally adored far and wide, but there's no other way to say it. I love her and I will miss her. I already do.