Today I am writing part three.
It is March 17th. It has been twenty-five years. Twenty-five. I can't believe it. Twenty-five years ago today I was twelve and scared. I was bottled up. I was letting go of the thought of feelings, but not letting them go. I was holding them, letting them settle in my heart. They have become permanent fixtures, attaching themselves to ventricles and arteries. Sitting in a little hole of sadness. One of many little holes I will accumulate as I grow-up.
Twenty-five years ago today my grandmother passed away. It was peaceful. There were a lot of family members gathered together. We waited as we listened to her breathe, knowing it wouldn't be long. My mom would wet a wash cloth and wipe my grandmother's lips to moisten them, they had become dry and she seemed to know this might offer her some comfort. I imagined her thanking my mom, but there was no voice left. Just breath. I often wonder if she was able to still have thoughts, hear us, think about the fact that she was in her last moments. I wonder what that must be like.
I wasn't in the room when she took that final breath. I think she planned it that way. Waited for me to go to the gift shop with my sister. Waited for my innocent young self to leave so I wouldn't have to witness her leaving. Waited until I was holding something I would attach to her memory. A pink lily hair clip that was laying on a velvet covered table. It was in my hand when my mom came to tell us. I've never worn it, so instead of hair it holds memories.
That memory traveled with me for a long time. I even wrote a paper about that day, tied to another significant day in my life and how memories can flood our senses so wildly, it almost feels like we are back in that moment. I am leaving photos of that paper below. If you read the links above to my other slices you will understand the significance of including it here. No pressure to read it, just here if you'd like. And a picture of the pink hair clip. :)
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Below is a snapshot of the front page of the article I reference in the other slices,
in case you were curious.
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My mom and I were just talking about my grandmother. She passed away on March 13, 1992. It was twenty-three years on Friday. It's a day I will never forget and hate to remember. You captured the feelings so well here and in your past writing as well.
ReplyDeleteI'm realizing just now that I don't think I have ever written about this though I replay the movie of the day often, at different times, including yesterday. I think it's because I've told the story to many of the silent message I heard from Grandma that told me to take us out of the room and to the gift shop. Telling stories out loud, especially often, takes away my urgency to write them. I'm so glad you wrote the first paper, and the subsequent pieces. The power of the emotion is indicative of the writer's urgency to release it. Each re-living is a healing, a prayer, an elegy. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteYour post was very thought provoking. Bringing back memories of spending those last moments with my grandparents but what kept pushing to the front of my subconscious that always makes my heart beat a thousand times a minute, makes me sick to my stomach is the day we found Trent laying with not a breath left in his body. I push the memory down, back down, where it's safe and allows me to not dwell on the worst day of my life. I've written some about that day and I think after reading yours that I will be brave enough to write about It some day. It could be healing. Your post shows that those memories have a way of surfacing without warning.
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