Two years ago was the worst day of my life. Two years ago my entire world turned upside down. And I still haven't recovered. I don't know if I ever will. The proper grieving process that should be done isn't. I'm afraid if I open that flood gate I won't be able to close it again. So for the last two years and who knows how many to come, I have put bandaid after bandaid over my shattered heart.
The littlest, stupidest things bring me to tears.
Little old ladies with their hair up in curlers. A memory comes of total embarrassment at a young age walking with my Grandma in a store and her hair all rolled up, tied off with a red bandana. I don't know why it bothered me so bad but it did.
Chocolate pudding. Every time I see it I can hear her scoffing at me for refusing to taste her homemade pudding. I was/am the pickiest eater and it drove her up the wall. I would sit at the counter with my arms crossed, facing her. Her arms would be crossed as well and a stubbornness war would start. "Try it" "No" this would go on until something had caught my eye and when I looked back at her she had done her magical 'place the food in front of you without you even noticing and she's right back where she was as if she hadn't moved at all'. Every. time.
Smells, colors, food, places, music, movies, so many things take me back to a time with my Grandma.
I think the worst one is my penguin blanket.
My Grandma made quilts for every new born baby. Not just for our family, but for friends, people in the ward, whoever. It didn't matter. She loved making those little pink and blue quilts.
I'll never forget one Sunday dinner when Mom and I got there early to help with the food (like always) and Grandma was waiting at the door. She took me by the hand and led me to the back bedroom where she would keep the quilts she was working on. On the bed was a cute little penguin quilt. Of course I liked it and I went to inspect the work she had done. What a perfectionist she was with her quilts, they were always beautiful. She asked if I liked it and when I told her I did she got quiet. Strange, so I looked at her to find that her demeanor had changed. "It's for you, when you have a little boy. I'll make one for a girl too". Excuse me?? I was livid. Blood boiled under my skin. She was being ridiculous. How could she even think like that?! I was nowhere near getting married, let alone having a baby. When I was at that chapter THEN I would need the quilt. Not now. After my temper calmed down and I saw how sad she was we compromised. We decided to add to the quilt, make it larger so I could sleep with it at night and when I had kids in the long away future then she could make me another quilt. But she was right. Dammit if she wasn't always right. She's not here anymore to make a little teddy bear quilt for my baby. I kind of hate all my cousins for this. They have a quilt for every single child. Neighbors and friends too. They don't even know the treasures they hold. All I have is a penguin quilt that makes me cry when I wrap up in it on a cold night.
This photo has recently made its appearance. My mom laughed the moment she saw it. "If there was ever any doubt that you are her granddaughter..." That was all she could say. Let me explain. I have never seen this photo, nor has it been discussed with me. But I know, with out a doubt the conversation that was held just before the photo was taken. My Grandpa, most handsome man in town, was tired from the hike (and maybe the company *wink wink*) sat down and turned to my Grandma, "Jean, would you please just sit down on the bench?!" And I know she looked at him in the eye and plopped down beside him. On the ground. Pure defiance. Pure stubbornness. I know my Grandma loved him more than anything. She proved it time and time again. But when it was challenged with her stubbornness...
I miss her. I miss the random conversations we had. I miss holding her hand while we walked around. I miss the battles of stubbornness we would have. I miss the constant old time music she would play. I miss her laugh. I miss her hugs more than anything. I miss how when I was ignoring her for a book or music and she would hit me in the ribcage, leaving a small bruise, and continue on with her story. I miss the little things that would drive me insane, like her reading every single sign on the freeway as we drove to salt lake, or how she would wear the same shirt for a week because she could, or how she had to put her hair up in curlers and a red bandana before going to Walmart. I miss her cooking. The cakes and ice cream for every occasion. I miss going to every play or musical or ballet in the state of Utah. It never mattered where we were going, Grandma made every last trip an adventure.
This was her favorite time of year. Every day she would walk around the house to see what little buds were poking out of the ground, or pull the leafs off of the growing tulips. She knew every plant on every square inch of her property. Only a few more weeks until she could work all day long in the garden.
Only a few more weeks until she would be calling me first thing in the morning to tell me happy birthday and ask where are we going for the day, because it was my day. Because of everything on this earth, the only weakness in our stubbornness was each other.
