The Safest Corners

Posted on | April 2, 2015 | No Comments

I want to tell you about the beauty of sitting with my grandmother as she took her last breaths, about the love that filled her house as my aunt and cousins, my mother and sister and I pulled and pressed and loved the things she held dear in her home. I want to tell you about how it felt to sit on the sofa in the boxed and folded house and to feel not so much the presence of my family, but the absence of my grandmother.

But I’m not sure those are things I can share. I’m so afraid that if I give them life on this page, they will lose their life for me and so I choose to keep them there, treasured, in the safest corners of my heart.

Today, I got up in my own home for the first time in a week. I got showered and dressed among my own things and packed J’s lunch as though nothing on Earth has changed in the past seven days. I repeated “socks and shoes” like a mantra, encouraged tooth brushing, and did all the normal, every day things that I did before that soft and still moment when my Granny slipped away.

But this morning, I made lunch in the company of pots and pans my grandmother lovingly cooked in. I drank coffee beside her living room painting, by the light of a bright milk glass lamp that sat in the room I slept in when I’d visit my Granny after Papa died in ’98. This morning I touched the glass of the Lilac painting that hovered over her living room table as I fed Riley out the back door.

I pinned a small, gold brooch to my dress just before I walked out the door… a brooch my granny wore to church, or perhaps a wedding… perhaps even my own. And all the while, I applauded myself on my return to “real life,” my re-awakening to life in Macon, life at work, life at least seven hours from the people who treasured my Granny as I did.

Because that’s what’s the hardest, you know.

I sit here in a city, and an office full of people and not one of them loved or even knew my grandmother.

But I did.

And I know that even as I sort papers and return phone calls and emails, I’ll be doing it with those memories of her gently pressed like the flowers of the sweetest corsage, and tucked in the safest corners of my heart.


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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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