Some sifting and shifting to share

This is an update, not an excuse. This is life. And life is not always light, not always easy. I know you are expecting a certain something from me—as well you should be. I’ve been providing words rather consistently, I think. But this is the reality and I can only tell you about it from my own perspective. Except that that is not entirely true, is it? Since I also write fiction.

It’s been a different week.

Wednesday last week was another world, a world in which my husband Richard and I were sitting with my grandmother. She was not complaining about the incredible pain she must have been feeling, which I’m sure was a lot more than I can imagine attempting to ignore, but as she laughed with us she was picking at her eyebrows until a small drop of blood welled on her face requiring dabs with a napkin. She was happy as always to have our company for a couple of hours. We had seen her like this many times before. It was a good day, it seemed. She knew we were leaving to Texas to visit a dear sister during a terribly difficult time, to try to be of some help or support somehow.

I awoke at 1:30 AM on Thursday morning, unable to go back to sleep, so I warmed leftover pancakes, made a cup of tea, and read. At 3:30 AM, I checked on Richard, who was already awake and busy preparing. By 4:25 AM we were ready to go. A stranger picked us up and drove us to the airport.

Landing in Texas time, we picked up a rental car and were quickly on our way to our sister’s house, three hours from Austin. Fifteen minutes from her driveway, I got a text from home. Grandma had crashed. Paramedics had taken her to the emergency room during the night around 1 AM. My folks were there with her until about 4:00 AM. Grandma was back at home in her room now but in terrible pain. A nurse had called for medication to bring her comfort, but they were told she was not going to recover.

Death was imminent. Any minute, any hour.

I was torn. Suddenly I was in the wrong place at the wrong time—or was I? Grandma was waiting for us to leave, wasn’t she? I don’t doubt it. But I wasn’t there. I couldn’t be there to sit with Grandma while she did the work of dying. It would have taken me too long to arrive. That was hard. But you know what? People showed up. Her regular visitors came to keep her company and my sister Sara kept us updated on the phone and let us talk to her, tell her we loved her. Though she was unable to respond, I know she was listening.

Grandma passed on August 1st. She lived every minute of her 101 years. Why do you think she lived so long?, people ask. Because she was born fighting, fighting for every ounce of happiness she won. And she won most. Her mind was strong to the end and she never let up until her body finally wore out.

It doesn’t matter that we knew it was coming. It doesn’t matter that she could be just as difficult as she could be a pleasure to be around. I’ll miss our afternoons. I’ll miss reading to her. I’ll miss her encouragement. “Are you going to get it published?”

I’ll miss her feedback. “So, this one is. . . Different.”

Different doesn’t exactly mean bad, but it definitely means something other than good in Grandma-speak. Life will be different without her.

Do you find yourself

Sifting?

Impressions

Illusions

Illustrations. . .

Do they dust the counter

Around the bowl

Of logic,

Squeeze after scraping squeeze

Until your hand aches

And yet the bowl will not fill?

Are the misshapen grains

Of conflict

Stuck in the mesh of memory

A collection of hard pebbles?

Do they overflow

And drift

Into rushing time and retellings,

A repeated river

Spraying against your face

In waves that

Refuse to still?

Can you sort a life

And tell it true?

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