Last spring or summer I thought it would be cool to start reading a series of books that I knew my grandma had read, “The Cat Who” by Lilian Jackson Braun. Having somewhat recently become a cat person, and as someone who is always looking for ways to bring reading back into my life, I knew this would be a good way to connect with Grandma. We texted back and forth about it a few times, and made plans for me to come and pick some out… not only does Grandma own the whole set; my mom even has a slip-covered page of her inventory and editions typed for her. Due to COVID-19, we had to wait awhile for a visit. I visited her in early March, 2020, just before the quarantine began. Finally in the summer, I went to her house and checked out her bookshelves. Every room in her house has bookshelves, and every shelf is full of the most memorable, tempting titles. In her bedroom were several Mad and Spy Vs. Spy paperbacks. I asked if I could take a few to show the boys (well… Spy Vs. Spy was for them. Mad was for me!) In my mom’s former bedroom was the collection of her most prized titles, including her “The Cat Who” books, a Dr. Seuss compilation, and several other goodies. Cookbooks in the kitchen, reference books in the den, older classics– I think– in the living room. Anyway, I took a few books home and started reading one of them, though I didn’t get very far… (I hardly ever finish books anymore). I showed Spy Vs. Spy to Trent, and parts of Mad. I texted with Grandma a few times about the the “Cat Who” books, and she mentioned that the author always kills off people in car crashes. My mom told me that was one of her favorite silly patterns the author had.
Grandma and Grandpa’s house is in the middle of town, and every Fall we went trick-or-treating down their street. They had a cat named Arnold who hissed and swatted (but never actually hurt anyone), and I can remember both of them holding up a squirt bottle to him when we would get scared of his hiss; Grandpa in his maroon-colored chair, and Grandma sitting in her own recliner a few feet away. Sometimes when I was sick my mom would let me stay at their house, and I loved when Grandma made me crackers and let me watch Nickelodeon. They had cable! Eureka’s Castle and Fraggle Rock fascinated me, and I loved watching Sharon, Lois & Bram. Grandpa would come home from work or from working with bees in his brown suit, jingling his change and grinning under his mustache. Later, I remember Grandpa putting in a small pond (was it mostly for Grandma to be able to watch the wildlife?) behind the house, and Rebecca and I picking up thousands of pine cones for a penny apiece. We loaded up Grandpa’s pickup and finally made enough money to buy a sleek-looking Sony Boombox from Wal-Mart. There are so many wonderful memory-nuggets!
We lost Grandma in the most peaceful way April 5. She was so well-loved, caring, and taken care of. My mom made these last few years the best and most comfortable for her! And Grandma got to talk to her kids and grandkids and enjoy her favorite things all the way to her last hours.
My anxiety brews and gurgles about a few different topics. Money and mail are one silly (but sour) flavor of fear. Being “enough” for everyone who needs me is another nasty flare-up I fight down frequently. Anticipating the loss of the people I love, and wondering what I could have done to have made our time more valuable is another subject that spikes up often for me. I spend time thinking “what if…” so often. Both what-if this happens, and what-if this had gone differently in the past. Looking forward to my fears, and looking back to my regrets and mistakes.
Okay, hold on…. give me just a minute and let me scroll back up and read my first paragraph once or twice. There’s more to add, so I’ll do it here: Grandpa and Grandma took charge of raising and lowering the flag at the end of their street. What an honor; what a commitment! The most pizza I ever remember eating in one sitting was at their house when I was about 13. I do not know what I was thinking, but I jammed half a pizza in my face so fast I don’t think I even saw what brand it was. Oh! One time we packed up a basket or bag of snacks and drove out to Grandpa’s beehives, barely visible across the highway from our backyard, if you went to the very edge of our property. (Actually, maybe I just knew that’s where they were and thought I could see that far… distorted memories sure are weird. ) We ate snacks and poked around the tall grass and trees. The honey from those bees was delicious and loved by so many locals! I remember Grandma’s soft, gentle voice giggling at just about anything.
Way too often I sense the sun setting once again and feel the thinness of the air that can’t support my weighted-down fears, and the simultaneous heaviness of the air that pushes the hard what-ifs and whens and hows –and worst, the whys– up against me. Oh, how painful it will be when things change and when I lose the people I love; how empty I’ll feel and how much I’ll lose. Another day ends, taking me further away from each day I am in.
But everything there, that’s not how grief really feels right now. I feel the sunrise each day, and think of my mom in absolute amazement exclaiming to Rebecca and me how awesome it is! I feel the wind whispering back to me about the whys… but it’s not really an answer that I can explain, just a comfortable knowledge that things and people that change and come and leave us are still somehow a part of us everyday. The heaviness feels lighter, and I can let go just a little when I think about how loved my Grandma was, and how she left us in the way that was easiest and best for her and for us. Yes it is painful, but its also peaceful. There’s a softness around what I thought would be sharp edges of this loss. There’s a light in the center of the darkness I thought would come. There’s a beautiful pink and purple rock waiting for me where I think I’ll find a cold and lonely emptiness.
I do wish I hadn’t spent so much time grieving what hadn’t happened, and had done more to live in and appreciate each day. Less anticipating, more living. The anxiety and anticipation of loss was a lot different from what I actually feel. Not better, not worse, just different.
Suburbanite Soapbox 