Memories

Woke up last night to a strange sound that took a few minutes of foggy thought to identify….rain. The house has a metal roof, so the pinging is just a tad different from a regular shingle roof. Still, a nice sound. And there is a queen size bed here, so it isn’t so bad when Vin comes running in, scared of the lightning and thunder.

I woke up in the morning from a vivid dream about my grandparents. We were having Thanksgiving at their house….my husband and kids, and I remember some other aunts and uncles…..but mostly I remember my Grandparents. Grandma was still sick, so Grandpa was doing the cooking. I could literally smell his old cologne. I could smell the stuffing, and heard the buzzing of the electric knife cutting the turkey. I recall the wiggling-puppy-feeling inside as I came and stood next to him in the kitchen and put my arm around him as he put an arm around my shoulder. “Finesse” is what my nickname was. We all had them. All twenty-some grandkids had a nickname. How I miss them.

They finally sold the house. I suppose that is what called the dream up from my subconscious. I am trying to be happy for the house to start again….to have a new young family living there when it has been well over 80 years since a young family lived there. I may get over losing the house.

I don’t think I’ll ever get over losing them. Grandpa was gone so suddenly. “At least he didn’t linger” people said. Grandma struggled along for so long, sick and suffering. “At least you were prepared and could say goodbye” people said. People should always ALWAYS shut up at funerals. In three years, two people who thought everything I did was great were gone. You don’t get a lot of people in your life who think you are great. You don’t get a lot of people who spend their best “free” years running around to piano recitals and basketball games and college plays on the other side of the state, taking pictures of you with your head cut off most of the time, all the while offering you pop and Bugles to snack on.

My Grandparents made a lot of memories for us. They made each birthday meaningful and each Christmas too. Grandma was fair to each of us to a fault: if one grandkid got something, every grandkid got something….and thus traditions were born. Grandpa gave us each an identity…a special name of our own. We weren’t just one of the grandkids, we were individuals. As we got older, he enjoyed us more. Neither of them ever judged any of us….whatever haircut or life choice or weird date we showed up with, they just accepted it without the slightest bit of criticism.

Nearly every time we pass a cemetery, Vin says mournfully, “That reminds me of Great Grandma.” He was old enough to remember her funeral and it must have made a big impression on him. We try to explain that we don’t have to be sad….Grandma is all better in Heaven. But on some level, he must read me that I am still sad.