So, the other day I decided to put the kids in the truck and get out of the house before I lost my mind. They were sleepy and fussy and driving me up a wall, and I needed to go to the bank anyway. So, I loaded them up and did my one errand for the day and went riding around.
I took a few turns and found myself driving down a main road that happened to have a cemetery on it. The cemetery where most of my family that has passed have been laid to rest in.
As I was passing the race track, I decided it was time for me to bite the bullet and go see my grandmother. I took the right hand turn last second and jostled the sleeping babies, but no one woke up. I took the circle drives and right hand curves (they're just BIG circles of property outlined with driveway), and made my way to park under the tree that's been in the same place since I can remember. Usually I park by the bench, but it's in the sun and it was a hot day. I told myself, it's a pretty day, the kids are asleep I can see her for a few minutes and they will stay passed out in the truck, everything will be fine. And then I rolled to a stop under the tree.
I stared at the pond in front of me, and refused to look at the bench. It took me FOREVER to even put the truck in park. Once I did, I couldn't take my hands off the wheel. I think there might be nail prints from where I was subconsciously holding on for dear life.
I couldn't bring myself to open the door, put my feet in the grass or even look her direction.
It's like if I didn't look, if my toes never felt the grass that I used to run barefoot in, if I didn't open the door it wouldn't be real. If I just drove away and didn't look at the bench, then everything would be fine. I could go home and open the kitchen door, walk in and she'd be there.
I could call and ask her if she wanted to go shopping and then convince her that she really needed to get out of the house because she needed sun, and people watching.
If my feet didn't touch the ground, I would come home and she would be here. Waiting for me. My phone would ring 100 times because I didn't pick up and she needed to ask me when we could do that dinner that we never did. She could check on the babies, and I could get annoyed that she called while I was at work, or that she called at all.
If I didn't put my feet in the grass everything would be ok. The wind would blow and it would be way before November, and way before everything went wrong and got bad. It would be before the phone call where she told me her labs and I knew from the numbers she was in renal failure. It would be before she went to the hospital for refusing dialysis. It would be before she was told she needed it. Everything would be back to normal, and she would be here. Healthy, happy. Not worried about T, because she could see his chunky butt and demand that someone pick him up and put him in her lap. She could see Izzy, and Izzy could say "I lub ew maw maw" she would have been at our wedding. She would be at all the birthdays. She would be here.
Well, I didn't put my feet in the grass, instead, as soon as my fingers pried themselves off the steering wheel and made their way to the door handle, I burst into uncontrollable tears. I put the truck in drive, cranked the radio and went directly to Robbie and told him about my bad idea.
6 months doesn't heal a shattered heart, and no matter how far away from the damn grass you are, how much you don't look at the bench you used to climb on or the statues you used to count and wonder around. No matter what you avoid, and how hard you hope and wish, she's still gone. And no matter how much planning, and begging, she wasn't physically at our wedding. She's not physically anywhere but under that grass.
I tried to see my grandmother, or rather her headstone because my grandfather has been wanting me to. And now, I'll be surprised if I can even go to the cemetery for the next 6 months.
She was my shelter, my fortress, she was my rock. My grandmother was my foundation for my faith, and her unshakeable faith is what really makes me believe. Even though I cursed God for not taking her when she begged, I thanked Him for letting her stay until I could let go. As I held her hand, and told her I love her and that she can go home, because I was ok with it, it was gonna hurt, but I was ok and didn't want her to hurt. I kissed her, squeezed her hand and felt her leave. I didn't react until they called time of death, then I ran. My best friend, my rock, my shelter, the one thing in my ever changing life that never changed had left me. Had left my kids. Would never see my son look healthy and not teensy. Left, worried about my babies, and my relationship.
Mawmaw, I miss you. The one thing all this pain has brought is that it rekindled my passion for writing. I think that must be my outlet. I write when I have no other way to express myself, and I'll be damned if I let anyone see me cry.
Yeah, so it was a bad idea to try to go see my grandmother.
Sorry love :(
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