I Miss My Grandma
I do, I really do. It is beyond my means to visit her now; I haven't sent a letter in awhile because my aunt told me not to bother since she can't really read anymore because of dementia; I've sent pictures before, but I'm sure she doesn't know who the pictures are of; she doesn't know who you are when you call, but she'll still talk to you.
I just wish I could be there with her. And I wonder, how much time do we have left? And what can I possibly do for her?
A letter from her
smells like her: coffee
grounds and yellow
roses, the smell of
a bird's first note in Spring.
But in between the words
(about the dog having fleas and how
big the Mr. Lincolns are this year)
is a void like the vacant
half of her bed.
Mornings, she cracks eggs
in the frying pan and
twitches the white curtain
wide, coaxing in sunshine,
looking for the mailman.
The house if full of the sound
of the phone not ringing.
Later she stands in her garden
her skin folding like the
bark of a tree, staring into a rose.
There is a secret inside
about the bittersweet dance
of blooming
and wilting.
14 comments:
That was so touching and so sweet!
My grandpa is 95 and nearly completely deaf. I always feel bad because he can't hear the laughter and the talking when we get together. Thankfully he still has his mind, though it isn't as sharp (and it used to be pretty sharp) as it used to be.
Beyond beautiful.
Wow.
Your grandma is beautiful. And I'm always amazed by your writing!
That was really really lovely, Wynne.
I also think about my grandma when I'm in the garden since she taught me a lot about gardening. Whenever I see a hydrangea bush (we both loved hydrangeas, and they're almost impossible to grow in Utah), I'll actually talk to her in my head, "Oh my word, Grandma -- how do they DO that?!"
The only death I've been present for was my grandma's, and it was one of the great honors of my life to watch such a loving and dear person fold up her life during that last week and open the next. It's been five years, but she still seems very present to me. It sounds like yours is very present to you, too, even though she's far away in both body and mind. It's sad, but also powerful in a way, to watch a good person fade away. I love what they said at John Paul II's death: "he showed us how to live, and then he showed us how to die."
And I love grandmas.
oh, Wynne, honey. Don't stop writing or sending pictures. Someone can read to her and she's in there somewhere. It will be appreciated deep down, even if she can't show it.
Wynne - I would still write. I would still send pictures. Both of my Grandma's are alone now... you've inspired me to send them something...
My Grandpa was almost blind when he died. He could see shadows when you entered the room. He loved my Red. Oh how he loved him. He loved that bright orange hair. It made me so sad when he had to start asking if Red still had "that bright red hair".
I just cried a little bit. Don't worry. It wasn't exactly a "sadness" thing. The bittersweetness you mentioned just struck a chord. Your poem (I miss reading your poems) made me also think of my Grandma Bishop. I am now grandparent-less, but she was the one grandparent I felt that I knew the best. She was still sharp and kicking (if not physically, then mentally) up until her last year and although it was sad to watch her fade, it was also a revelation to see how she had prepared all of her life for that. She was ready and she had prepared all of us for her transition. Her life continues to be a source of inspiration.
Your grandma is beautiful. Thank you for putting your feelings into words. Send her the poem. Even if she doesn't comprehend, she'll have a little piece of you with her. Thank you for sharing.
Thanks, ladies. I wish you could know Grandma. I swear, she is the nicest lady in the world, and still is, even when she can't remember if she was about to stand up or just sat down...I just sent a bunch of pictures I took of flowers to Costco to get them printed. Even if she can't read anything I write, she'll still enjoy the pictures! She's crazy about plants.
And thanks again for reading and just being nice to me.
awh wynne, that sounds so tough. wish you could hug her right now, too. you're a good granddaughter. wish i could make this easier for you.
you are so sweet, kathleen
My great-grandma had Alzheimer's before she died and we cared for her at our home when I was a teenager. She used to try to feed Matlock her pimento cheese sandwiches and share her 7UP with MacGyver.
I like your sentimental side, wynne.....
awwhh wynne, i love seeing this sweet side of you, too. but i already knew you had a tender side. your emails give you away that you are so kind to me.
grateful for you, kathleen
ps. thank you so much for my bday good mail a few days ago (it arrived day after my bday). what perfect timing, you brought me more joy during a really hard time lately because of our teens. thanks for lifting my burden and bringing me smiles.
miss ya wynne
grateful--oh, STOP! you're making me blush.
elastic--oh, I would have loved to have known your grandma. I bet Maccy-G just looooves 7-up!
I loved the parts about "the house is full of the sound of the phone not ringing" and "her skin folding like the bark of a tree."
Really, you make me never want to post my STUPID poems again. You really have a gift at this!
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