The Bean Blog (currently on hiatus)

Tuesday, November 16, 2004

There, She's Gone

I think about my grandmother every day. Most days, I come close to tears, and some days, I actually cry. Memories of her are all around me, in the most unlikeliest of places. A few days ago, I was burning CDs to give to my clients, and I noticed I was running low on my 50 pack. I was mentally making plans to buy more CDs when I realized that my grandmother had bought me these CDs. We were at a store, probably six months ago or so, and I wanted to get these blank CDs. I was going to pay for them, but she added them to her purchases and said, "I'll get them for you." I think these remaining CDs are the last thing she bought for me, the last present from her.

Sometimes it's an item, like the CDs, or the large serving bowl on top of our kitchen cabinets that my partner pointed to yesterday and said, "We can use that for Thanksgiving." My grandmother gave that to me as a Christmas present six or seven years ago. Other times, it's an action, like a month ago when I was making raman noodles. I open the package, and then I break the hard square of noodles in half, and then each half in half so that I have four pieces the same size (more or less). I started doing that 10 or 15 years ago when I saw my grandma do it, and I asked her, and she said that she did it because it made the noodles easier to eat because they weren't so long. And I was breaking up the square of noodles a month ago, without thinking anything at all, until that memory came back to me.

It's times like these, when I think about my grandma, that I can usually keep myself from crying. It's another type of thinking about my grandmother that almost always gets me. When something that I've never experienced makes me think about her.

I was watching the episode of Crossing Jordan from Sunday night. It was about a plane crash. At the end of the show, one of the characters is standing at the crash site, and he reads from a book. I don't know if it was a poem or a paragraph, but he was reading it, and I couldn't stop the tears.

As I stand on a mountain top, as the great bird approaches, she is small in my sight but grows larger on approach until I am blessed with the full sight of her graceful wings, proud countenance and good company. All too quickly, she grows small again on the horizon and disappears from view, and I call out, “There, she’s gone.” But there are other mountain tops, beyond me, and at the precise moment when I note the great bird’s departure from my view, I know there are new eyes, taking up the sight of her, and fresh voices calling out, “Here she comes.”




2 Comments:

  • hey chickee... sorry if my post triggered this :P i wasn't really close to my grandpa, and i kind of feel like a bad person because of it. i'm glad that you had that closeness with your grandma, even if it hurts more. i know i will be a MESS when my dad's mom is gone. it's definitely weird though... it's so weird.. because you relate to crossing jordan... but i was watching ER and there was an episode on about this guy who was dying and his son (who hated him) was supposed to come. and at the end they were talking about the pizza guy and how they got their order free and dr. shane west says "you know what that means?" and dr. pratt says "yea, he didn't make it in time" but i think they were talking about the son..and i dunno.. it was so eerie :P thanks for the well wishes though :)

    By Blogger Jean, at 7:07 PM, November 16, 2004  

  • Jean, Thanks for the comment. You don't need to feel any guilt. I wrote this before I'd read your post about your grandfather. Anyway, watching TV can be hard. I never realized how much death there was on television. I know that sounds crazy, but it's true. I've never lost anyone who was close to me before, so death was sort of an abstract concept. I would see shows like Crossing Jordan and ER and Law & Order which always, always, always feature someone dying or dead, and it just seemed like an abstract concept to me. Now I see it, and it seems so much more real, and I don't like it.

    By Blogger Oz, at 9:53 AM, November 17, 2004  

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