Begin Again.

I haven’t posted anything since October, a few days before Grandma passed away.

In my last post, I wrote about trying to get a bug out of my car and killing it in my attempts to set it free. I sat in the passenger seat while Mark drove us to the hospital to visit my grandmother. The Dodgers were playing in the first game of the World Series. Mark and I both wore blue and listened to the game on the way to the hospital.

At the hospital, we turned the game on the television. Grandma told us, in between moans, how she and Grandpa used to get season tickets. I’ve never seen her in so much pain. She shut her eyes tightly, crying aloud, her body tense and clenched. The pain would come in waves and last about a minute or so. She told us she waited to take the pain meds so she wouldn’t be out of it during our visit. I asked her to please take the meds.

At one point Grandma said, “Okay, I’ll have alcohol now.” She laughed.

“What did you say?” I said. “Say it again so I can get you on camera.”

We all laughed.

I never saw my grandmother drink alcohol my entire life. She never drank. But she drank Pepsi like water. Before we left for the hospital I asked if she needed anything. The answer was, “A cold Pepsi.”

I knew from seeing her in so much pain and the alcohol comment that this was not a good sign.

At some point she finally got her meds and the pain decreased.

The Dodgers beat the Astros that night 3-1. I was glad she got to see it. And I was thankful my husband was there with us. He always made her laugh. We had a great visit despite the pain, there was Pepsi, Dodgers and laughter.

I felt guilty leaving her but her pain had subsided and Mark and I were starving.

We kissed her goodbye, told her we loved her and we’d see her again soon.

Mark and I left and as we walked toward the parking structure, Mark playfully grabbed me and pulled me into the stairwell for a romantic kiss. We kissed and laughed at our cheesy affections.

We went to sushi for dinner. Mark talked a lot with the sushi chef and the chef kept handing us things we didn’t order. But everything was delicious. I think he enjoyed our company.

I told Mark how appreciative I was that he went to see Grandma with me. And how I was so happy that he made her laugh.

We ate too much sushi, drank some beer and sake and felt comforted for the night.

Five days later Grandma passed away and the Dodgers lost game five of the series. Mark and I were there, along with other family members and friends, and it was a very long and heart wrenching day. There was a sense of peace when Grandma finally let go but I had yet to let go.

And I stopped writing for a number of reasons but mostly because I felt lost.

Well, I don’t feel as lost anymore but I’m still working on letting go.

There is so much I could write about her. I could fill a book. And maybe one day I will.

The one thing I will say is: she wanted to be the one, the only, the capital “G” – Grandma. She hated when I would say grandma followed by her name because she wanted to be number one.

Well, Grandma, you were it. My number one “G,” best G-Ma eva. I will love you always.

Remember When…

Toys were scattered across the living room. A rubber duck with sunglasses was beak down attempting to dive under the carpeted sea. Another duck was spotted on the cover of a plastic ABC book which squeaked. And close by, another book sat loudly with bold colors yet, withheld its boisterous songs.

Under the coffee table, a lonely orange race car with a checkered top crashed over on its side.

A small orange basketball lost its bounce. And other oddly textured balls, brown and blue, lied motionless.

There’s another odd toy, shaped like peanuts in a shell, with a face that traveled alone and wound up upside-down.

Pink sequined slippers were separated in an abandoned stride. And an iPad was plugged into the wall hidden behind a woven toy basket.

 

There was an abundance of evidence – children lived here.

Who knew what lied down the hallway, in bathrooms, bedrooms or closets.

The treasures collected along the way said, Remember me. Remember me when…  

 

 

I followed Abe’s cry and found him on his knees with his butt sticking out of the bottom of the bookshelf. The top half of his body was shoved inside.

I laughed, surprised at his predicament, and watched as he tried to free himself by repeatedly lifting up and hitting his head on the shelf above him. Little did he know, all he needed to do was back-up like a mini dump truck – beep, beep, beep.

When I pulled him out, we laughed, and Abe smiled without a trace of tears.

 

 

The grin spread across Abe’s face revealed two baby chicklet teeth. He panted and snorted as he crawled toward me like a pig headed to the trough.

I am his trough, I thought. I am his source of nourishment, a provider of food, shelter and warmth.  

When Abe crawled toward me, he crawled home.

Eyelashes & Memories.

I held her eyelash on the tip of my finger waiting for her to make a wish. Instead, Mia took the eyelash with two finger tips like tweezers and said, “I want to keep it.” 

I asked her why. And she said, “It’s a memory.” 

I chuckled with pleasure that only a surprising response could conjure. “A memory of what?” I asked.

“Of being with you.” She said sweetly.

Mia’s long eyelashes close like the cilia of a Venus fly trap capturing lives. The memories she collects filter through and nourish her insides.

My eyes are thirsty, sore, and dry from being open at times they’re not used to. Baby Abe and I awake through dark hours from his ferocious hunger and desire for comfort.

In my tired daze, I fear the memories aren’t seeping through. 

Will I remember this time when Abe is only happy my arms? And the moment he first smiled, with open eyes, staring at the feathers on the wall? Or when his poop shot into my hand as I held his naked bum in a thin white towel?

Will I remember that Mia collected rocks, shopkins and memories? When she gently took my eyelash and put it on her finger? And she whispered in my ear, “Wish he will go to sleep so you can play with me.”

Will I remember how Alana told me everything, every little detail, about her life and worries? How she worried about cavities and asked if the dentist will take her teeth out? Or how she constantly kissed Abe and always sealed the ritual with a gentle touch of her forehead against his?

Will I remember their youth? 

My tired eyes thirst for it all.