I’ve been meaning to write, really, I have been. But it’s been an awful week, well, an awful year. And I have just been down and out. I mean, I’m sleeping on my couch for pete’s sake. I don’t know why this is logical, but it is. I’m just tired of everything and I need something good to happen in my life.
So my great-grandmother died last week. I know this seems something crazy for me to be so devastated over if you don’t know my family, or if your great-grandparents died when you were younger like most people. My GG, which we ended up shortening to The G in recent years, because we are fly like that, was 94. She would have been 95 in December. And people at the funeral were telling me that she was ready and it was peaceful and she lived a long, good life. Quite frankly, I don’t give a damn; I wasn’t ready.
See, I have been blessed with wonderful parents. I couldn’t have asked for better ones. But I was also blessed with three others as well.
I was raised on a small farm with both my grandparents and great-grandparents, three houses all in a row. And they were parents, I spent my life running between houses, going to school with my grandmother and coming home afterwards my G. My great-grandfather died when I was nine, and while I loved him so dearly, he didn’t have the chance to be the presence in my life that the G was. When he died I stayed with her to keep her company.
I saw her every time I went home. She was a beautiful and wonderful person. She was strong and feisty in her nineties and I have always said that I wanted to grow old like her. She chased after younger men in the nursing home that she checked herself into; we weren’t going to put her there but she wanted the social aspect of it. She had an amazing memory, told me of all her beaus over the years, and recently asked us if she should get a face lift. PS – she died looking 70, not 94, with most of her hair still naturally black.
The last time I saw her I brought her breakfast and we ate together. That was a little over a month ago. Now I’ll never see her again. I’ll never kiss her on her check and tell her I love her and it’s killing me. I have thought about her all day, every day, and compounded with the worry and heartache I have over my father, it just seems too unbearable. And while I desperately need One to coddle me and make me feel better and not so damned lonely, I can’t bring myself to tell him how so true that is because I don’t think he’s ever needed anyone in his life before.