Laughter through Tears is my favorite Emotion…

Posted on | March 24, 2015 | No Comments

Since we got home from North Carolina, I’ve been hovering in between two worlds. One foot rests firmly in my day to day, get up, get to work, come home… but the other wanders the road between here and Greensboro, wondering when the call will come in that summons me home to re-celebrate the almost 99 years of life my Granny has spent on this Earth.

It’s strange to sit and wait for a loved one to die.

J keeps asking me if Great Granny is dead yet, but it’s not so he can grieve, it’s because he knows that when she goes, he’ll get to see his cousins again. That little bit of five year old always makes me smile. He’ll ask with an almost hopeful look, and then, as if he realizes that his question might upset me, he says “I really want her to get better, though.”

But we both know that she will not get better.

I spent time on Saturday afternoon, kneeling in the dirt of my “garden” that has been woefully mistreated since sometime last spring. I remember my Granny this way, pushing my hands into dirt, feeling the sun against the back of my neck. I remember that her yard was always full to the brim with life… plants and children and birds and butterflies. My sister and I used to beg my Papa to toss us into the hammock to create a “storm” where he’d pull the netting back and forth ferociously and nip at our backs and legs with his fingers. And all the while, Granny would garden.

J came outside to sit with me for a while, asking me about Great Granny and if she’d known him “his whole life.” I told him she had… told him that for every second of his life she had not only known him, but loved him. He smiled big.

“When she dies, will Great Granny be able to walk again?” He asked with the hopefulness of someone who only tenuously grasps the idea of life and death. I told him I thought she would.

“Will she be able to see me again?”

Again, I told him she would. He thought for a moment, fingering the harmonica in his hand and looking around the yard.

“Then why doesn’t she go ahead and die?”

His question was serious and straight to the point and not for the first time, I had to wonder why we force our bodies to linger long past when they need to be moving and breathing and suffering. I started to answer him, started to go into a long and in depth explanation of life and death and Heaven and J’s sweet Great-granny… but as five year olds do, he stopped me with a question.

“Oh! Mom. When Great Granny dies, will she come back from the dead like Jesus or like a zombie?”

And we laughed.

And it was just what I needed.


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    Spilled Milk (and Other Atrocities) by Law Momma is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
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