Sunday, October 13, 2013. 6:00 PM All of our time wasnt glamorous. We werent always sassy or full of wit. Sometimes there was no jazz, no hand-holding, no backache from me crouching and painting her nails. We were flawed, arrogant, and forgetful more times than we would have liked to accept as truth. We fancied fanciful things (I think the word is greedy). We were late often. We held grudges. I perhaps held them the longest, was the most fierce in my grudge holding “You didnt get that from me” she said. (I did). One year, we barely spoke. I avoided her calls. Her messages grew in number and complexity. There were islands between desperation, anger, curiosity, contempt, and barely any water. I dreamt of her then too. I worried about her, her health, her age. I didn’t know how to recover, to turn back, to simply pick up the phone sometimes. I had issues I was working through, once I got through them, perhaps then… denial is a most flamboyant bird. The day of Zora’s birthday party, one day after my 34th birthday, I sat phone in hand outside of Zora’s dad’s house. A quiet suburb where things like I’d been dealing with, simply didnt happen. The strangle of silence broke. I don’t know if she could understand half of what I said after hello. To say my voice trembled under the weight of tears, would be a work of fiction. I was wailing, if politely so; I mean Gram did teach me to have some level of composure. Thank God for that conversation in the car. I had no idea she’d be gone six weeks later. I got the chance, no—I took it, to tell her I’m sorry, explain why I’d become so hidden, where I’d been all that time. “I knew there was a reason, Di. I knew you wouldnt just give me up.” That was her apology, for both of us, from both of us. It was a blessing, it was adequate. And there really isnt much more to it than that. #rememberingGram
Posted on: Thu, 20 Nov 2014 17:32:28 +0000
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