Maybe if I write it down, I won't forget it.
Yesterday I went to visit my Grandmother. A visit which would have included a large zip-lock bag of pens, sweets, and rolls of coins that she put together neatly before our arrival...if this was 10 years ago. I guess it never hit me when my grandmother moved out of her house, the house my mother grew up in, the house us three basically grew up in during our childhood. I miss everything about it. From the way the door sounds when pulling it open, to the creaking of the 15 steps to get upstairs. I miss the tacky green carpet and I miss the smells. I miss the bag of peanuts which my Grandmother would use to feed the squirrells. I miss the porch which nobody would sit on but it was always nice to look at. I miss the kitchen and small pantry which held tons of cookies and snack foods, which Griffin Leslie and I would fight over. I miss knowing where to get "my cup." My cup was purple, Griffin's was teal, and Leslie's was blue. I miss sleeping in the spare room with the uncomfortable, hard, lumpy pillows that were "just for decoration." Leslie and I never understood why pillows would be for decoration. I miss the random crap in the upstairs hallway that wouldn't fit in the attic. But most of all, I miss the yard. The yard which once supplied our hunger with berries. Vines and vines of them had grown over the years and I would love to go through and pick them, put them in a basket, and bring to my grandmother for her to enjoy. I loved her expression when I would have a basket full of berries. One fall the berries went away, the vines were chopped and I never tasted anything as sweet.
I remember when I thought my Grandmother needing a walking cane was strange. Now she can barely get up. Yesterday she was moaning with pain and I couldn't look at her. She was completely grey, her skin tone and facial expression. She laughed a total three times and I'm afraid that was the last laugh I'll ever hear from her. More important than the house and the porch and the berries, my sweet Grandmother is now facing her last days. I wasn't as close with my Grandfather as I am with her. I grew up with her stories. I grew up sitting on her lap. I grew up on Wiley Street, and now along with Wiley Street, my Grandmother is fading into my past memories, just like my Grandfather. I don't want her in pain anymore, but I don't want her in my past.
My chest is burning and I can't see straight and my face is covered in tears and snot.