The Grandma from Kalama

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Okay, technically she wasn’t from there, but she did live there for a time.

Tonight I had occasion to dig out some little odds and ends that I inherited when my grandmother passed away.  This happened when my daughter was five months old.  She is now 9 and a half years old.

It’s really true that although you may get past someone’s death, you don’t really get over it.  It feels the same today as it did then.  There is not a day that goes by that she does not cross my mind.

I had not brought out these things in some time and at first I could not find them; this caused a small panic, that I could have let them somehow slip away from me.  I rummaged around in all the disused spaces of our house several times before the suggestion that might they be among my craft supplies?  jogged my memory a bit and so I found them, in a pasteboard box, down in the glass-fronted hutch cupboard.  I was relieved that I had not left them in the garage, which is relatively dry but cold in winter and hot in summer and smells like damp concrete and grass clippings.  It would be no place for an old lady’s trinkets.

It’s hard for me to handle these little items, physically I mean to touch them and have them out, because they still smell like her house smelled and that will cause the sharp little pang of stinging sadness like no other thing will.  But I needed something from the little cache, and when I couldn’t find it it suddenly became vitally important that I lay my hands on it, right now, tonight.

I feel better and worse, happier and sadder, for this little trip down memory lane.   These days as I find myself caring less and less for what anyone thinks of me I am reminded of her more and more.  She had her faults and her foibles but by God she was who she was.

And I miss who she was, tonight and every other day of my life.

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