July 10, 2010

Dear Grandmom,

I didn’t think about you when I woke up this morning.  I would say I’m sorry, but I don’t think you mind.  In fact, I didn’t even think about you until Dad called, like something was on his mind, and I realized what day it was.  It’s been two years.

It hit me pretty hard at first.  I was ice skating – random, right?  Well we went with camp on Wednesday and I had so much fun, I told C I’d take her on Saturday.  I had fun again today.  I only fell once, but it was a hard fall.  C told me she was worried she’d have to figure out how to drag me off the ice.  I got up again though, don’t worry, and we all had a good laugh about it later.  Then I took Z out for dinner for his birthday, 15cent shrimp!  We made blueberry cobbler and watched Dirty Jobs with Mike Rowe.   You know, it was pretty wonderful.

I think that’s exactly how you would want me to spend today, not thinking about it.  Today is not the most difficult day of all of this.  It’s every other day.  It’s everything that passes without you in it, not just July 10th, but all the other days in the year.

Everyone gets together to commemorate this day and I just can’t do it.  I just… can’t. I tried last year and it didn’t feel right.  I should not be trying to make this day matter, in fact I should do everything possible to make sure it doesn’t.

That day, two years ago, K the older and I were walking on the beach when we saw a double rainbow.  Before, we’d both been questioning any possibility of the afterlife when someone in our family had told us that she believed rainbows were the way people we loved and lost communicated with us.  K the Older and I thought that a little silly – why rainbows?   But the appearance of those rainbows was too much for either of us.  We both broke into laughter, the first we’d heard in weeks, and now it’s become a running joke.  Every time one of us sees a rainbow, we text the other to let her know that you say hi.  We know it’s not, but we like to pretend.

This picture of you and Grandpop is my absolute favorite of you.  I know you hate pictures of yourself, but you have to admit, you look pretty fabulous in this picture.  You’re so full of life and vibrant here, I can’t even imagine that you’re gone.  It doesn’t seem real.  Look at your smile!  You’re laughing and probably no one will ever remember why, but it doesn’t matter.

I can hardly believe two years have passed.  That June and July in 2008 seems so vivid, like it was yesterday.  I wish I remembered all the years that came before it so well.   Two weeks before that, I remember the last time we spoke on the phone.  You never failed to make me smile, to make me happy.  I was eating Chinese food, I was wearing the red dress I wore two days ago.  We were so excited for our extended vacation together that was only three weeks away.   I remember how much I smiled when we talked on the phone.  I’ll never lose that.

Love you Grandmom.


8 thoughts on “July 10, 2010

  1. *hug* I got tears in my eyes, reading this. My family used to get together to commemorate the anniversary of my grandfather’s death, and I hated it. It was like having his funeral over again every year for five years. I felt too guilty to skip it, but it always made me miserable. I think it’s great that you try to celebrate your grandmother’s life rather than her death.

  2. Very nicely said. I know the feeling quite well. I hope that next year, or the year after that, the tears will be gone and you’ll smile when you think of your grandmother and the time you shared.

  3. At my mother’s funeral, when I was 19, I saw a double rainbow. The most brilliant I’ve ever seen. I, too, think she was saying hi.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s