I Miss…#sol16

I miss walking into the kitchen, linoleum tapping underneath my steps, to watch you leaned over the sink, one foot resting atop another, drinking a cup of tea or sampling something you’d just cooked, dreamily looking through the window to the fields beyond.

I miss the Saturday trips to the public library, listening to National Public Radio before promptly shutting off the BBC, where you’d drop me off and remind me to pick up a few large-print mysteries for you.

I miss your ability to remain unflappable, even when I told you I was going to college somewhere far away, or applying to a graduate school in a program you’d never heard of. Instead, you always said, “You can do whatever you set your mind to.” When I asked you how you managed to get so much accomplished, you’d simply reply, “I haven’t done anymore than I should have done.”

I miss the contentment of lying on the couch, my head inches from the television, watching whatever was on while you sat in your chair and read your Bible, or a magazine you’d brought home from work.

I miss your reminders not to hate my mother, which was my default reaction throughout most of my childhood and adulthood. “She’s the only one you got,” you would say. As much as I try to remember that at present, reacting otherwise is still a struggle that I often do not win.

I miss the time you took for animals and small children. You often let us keep the ones that turned up as strays, children, too. There was always enough love in our tiny house for all who entered.

I miss your voice. I don’t really remember what it sounds like, but I imagine in my memory that it is melodic, kind, deep-throated. I have visions of remembering your laughter. I wish we had cell phones during those times before you passed, because I am sure I would have recorded a message you sent me and kept it forever so I could replay it for all these times when I would give anything to hear it.

I miss being able to turn to you for parenting advice. You raised seven children of your own, then took me, sometimes my sister, and a cousin or two every now and then. You would know how to mother me as I mother my own son.

I miss the fact that E will never know you. I will tell him about you often, will feel your presence as I move through life, will be thankful to have had such an important person in my life who stepped in to raise me when my own mother and father would not.

I will carry you forward, with me, with him, all the while, missing you.

My grandmother, Beulah, and me around 3 months of age

13 thoughts on “I Miss…#sol16

  1. Kim, what a beautiful letter to your beloved grandmother. Through your words, I can feel the quiet fortitude she inhabited and the steadfast love you had for one another. You listened to NPR and the BBC en route to the public library?! What they bestow on us with unspoken love, my goodness! Remember when I spoke of our souls picking the family we are born into? Your mother couldn’t be there, but you had an amazing grandmother who patiently embodied forgiveness and reminded you that your mother is the only one you have. None of this is a coincidence.
    When P’s brother, B, was born, I was sad that he never got to meet my grandma. I mean, P. at least met her and was held and loved by grandma for a short time, even though P won’t remember. My energy healer told me that departed grandparents always get to hold new babies in the spirit world before the soul takes on a physical form. That immediately brought tears to my eyes. It makes total sense. I bet your grandma held E. on the other side before E. came into this world.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I love this piece. The memories you choose to share show so much about you, about her, and about your relationship. I can also relate to a lot of this, but it makes me wish, too, that I had a relationship like this as a child. Both of my grandmothers passed away when I was in high school, before I was old enough to fully appreciate an adult relationship with either of them. How lucky for you to have so much of her love and wisdom and stories to pass down to E, even though he never got to know her.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Yes, you carry your grandmother forward in your daily life, all your accomplishments, each of your deeds as a teacher and a mother. What a beautiful homage to the one who loved and nurtured you, to the one who taught you how to love unconditionally. Even though you have forgotten her voice, you captured exquisitely big and small revealing details about your grandmother. She lives in all her descendants. Oh one more thing, even though the sound of her voice has vanished from your memory, you capture her voice in this piece. Thank you for sharing. E. will know your grandmother through your daily love.

    Liked by 1 person

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