My Grammy died. She just turned 86.
The last time I saw her, it was Sunday. We were having a birthday party for her. She was really tired. She kept telling me she didn't know why she felt the way she did. But, oh Heather, you look so good! Look at how tan you are, how summery you look. What are you up to? What did you do today? Where are you going when you leave? And what are you up to? She kept asking. I think she just wanted me to talk, to talk about anything. So she would not have to. So she could focus on breathing. Breathing was really hard for her, on Sunday.
She let me sit and hold her hand. It was so small in mine. Mine once fit securely in hers, and now mine was a wall caging a scared animal. I told her she could rest, if I could just sit and hold her hand. Her left hand, the one with the crooked pointer finger, it gripped mine. Her right hand shook. Her eye lids fluttered. Her beautiful eyelids. I have never seen anything more beautiful than my Grammy. I have always adored her skin, the wrinkles, the lines, the smell of lotion. And I checked, her woman hair was still there on the back of her neck, on Sunday.
I went to kiss her goodbye. She said next time I saw her, she would be feeling better.
"Oh, and honey, I love you so much."
I love you too Grammy. And I know the next time I see you, you will be feeling much better.
