My grandma is very, very sick and quite old.
On a cognitive level, I understand that, and I've always understood that the laws of time meant she would not help raise my babies the way she helped raise me. But my heart rejects all this.
It's selfish, but I still need her.
How will my kids do without her blueberry pie? I can't make it, damn it -- I have tried and it's just NOT RIGHT. How will my kids never hear her say, "I am so proud of you, I could bust." I will say it, but I lack the right lilt, and the words sting my throat when they come out without the South-meets-Brooklyn accent. I am so sad they will lingering for hours in her kitchen and dining room. I am so glad I captured on tape some of her tales of dating grandpa during the war, but what about the stories I need her to tell them about driving back through the desert to the gas station because they'd forgotten to pay for the lemonade only to find out it was free when they bought a tank of gas? I will try to do it justice as best I can, I guess - a poor substitute. I am no good at dress shopping, and Peaches would have LOVED to have grandma take her to the mall to pick out something beautiful. No one shops as good as my grandma. No one listens like she does. No one loves like she does. No one helps like my grandma.
No one else woud have embraced a rooster's roosteriness quite the same way.
Just as I write this, the rooster is across the room eating breakfast. He just looked over at my wet eyes. He stared a moment, came over, got close to my face and said, "I love you! I love you!" We are missing my grandma in so many, many, many ways, but in moments like that I have to think about the fact that we carry pieces of her inside of us. The rooster's words of love are among those pieces.
Grandma, we love you, love you. We've always been so proud of you we could bust.
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Two kids, two full time careers - lots of people do it gracefully, but for me it's a challenge, particularly as I struggle with my boy, the rooster, and his "constellation" of health and developmental issues. Medicine so far fails to cure what ails us, so I'm trying a self-prescribed intensive dose of blogging to see if that does the trick.
1 comment:
First, I'm so sorry about your grandma being sick. I hear your heartbreak coming through loud and clear. I'm just so sorry. That has to be so tough for you.
Remember this: since your grandma has had such an integral & loving hand at raising you, her love & wisdom & caring is IN YOU. You can never erase that, no matter what. The good & the bad is that the Rooster & Peaches don't know to miss the lilt or the accent of her loving praise, because they won't remember it. You don't have to deliver same message with exactly the same details: what matters is that you're delivering the same message. YOU are irreplaceable in the eyes on your children. YOU are to them what your grandma is to you.
And don't forget to send that same praise to yourself. Because you're a wonderful, caring, loving, very real mother. XOXOXOOX R
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