It's not like I'm scared, I just don't know.
I'm starting to think that the world works in circles that sometimes unravel into one another. Sometimes those circles are like BIG GIANT BALLS OF YARN that are so impossible to unravel without a little tug. Then it's almost like there's an avalanche tumbling down a mountain right at you.
Some things are only supposed to happen in the dead of winter, like running out of heat or thinking that you might have one more extra bill to pay when you're almost there, or your grandmother getting admitted to the hospital for sepsis, then pneumonia, then whatever else -but the doctors really don't know what's going on. So they keep throwing words at my mom.
It's weird that when you get older you kind of wonder what it was like when you were a child, though I think I was always this way. Kind of a disconnected, what am I doing here? sort of feeling. I really care about my grandma. You know. I wonder when she started getting the Alzheimer's though, and why it's so hard to remember her before the Alzheimer's set in. How did my grandma feel when she was a child? What did she go through. There are so many pictures in our attic but I almost feel like I've never known my grandma at all.
I remember angel hair pasta though. What I thought was angel hair pasta when I was a child, anyway. Except now that I'm older, I realize it wasn't angel hair at all. It was the thickest, most awesome pasta ever. And the sauce was delicious. Sometimes she made meatballs they were EVIL MEATBALLS because they weren't the same meatballs in Spaghettios.
Oh oh oh, and the pumpkin pie and apple pie that during Thanksgiving were to DIE for. She made the most amazing pies. And then I remember when we realized things were not going well at all and her apple pie consisted of sliced apples in a pie shell that she nearly set on fire in the oven.
When I was younger, grandma and grampa used to take me to Church with them. The Hurley Reformed Church. It was probably because of that Sunday School that I decided that I didn't need some God watching over me. I had my family to watch over me. I remember being all silent and not doing what they told me to do because I wasn't religious and I wasn't about to be all religious with them. I think my grandma sometimes kept me upstairs because I wasn't bad, I just wasn't a part of them.
Then there was the time she was taking us to the elementary school to catch the summer school bus and stopped in the middle of the intersection to turn around and go back in the right direction. Bad intersection, bad idea to turn around. We almost got hit. Mom learned how to drive after that.
Did grandma ever come to my school play when I was in 1st grade? What about the choir concerts, or was that around the time that the Alzheimer's was setting in? I can't remember.
One day I'm going to look back on this and say, Grandma is here. And there. And quite frankly, her brain puts her everywhere. Everywhere is home, and yet nowhere is home. Why is that. But also, why is it that I felt more connected to my Dad's mother, Grandma Linda (who passed away a few years ago,) than I do to my mom's mother, who's lived in our own backyard since 1995?
I don't know. Why things happen at the end of Winter.
Some things are only supposed to happen in the dead of winter, like running out of heat or thinking that you might have one more extra bill to pay when you're almost there, or your grandmother getting admitted to the hospital for sepsis, then pneumonia, then whatever else -but the doctors really don't know what's going on. So they keep throwing words at my mom.
It's weird that when you get older you kind of wonder what it was like when you were a child, though I think I was always this way. Kind of a disconnected, what am I doing here? sort of feeling. I really care about my grandma. You know. I wonder when she started getting the Alzheimer's though, and why it's so hard to remember her before the Alzheimer's set in. How did my grandma feel when she was a child? What did she go through. There are so many pictures in our attic but I almost feel like I've never known my grandma at all.
I remember angel hair pasta though. What I thought was angel hair pasta when I was a child, anyway. Except now that I'm older, I realize it wasn't angel hair at all. It was the thickest, most awesome pasta ever. And the sauce was delicious. Sometimes she made meatballs they were EVIL MEATBALLS because they weren't the same meatballs in Spaghettios.
Oh oh oh, and the pumpkin pie and apple pie that during Thanksgiving were to DIE for. She made the most amazing pies. And then I remember when we realized things were not going well at all and her apple pie consisted of sliced apples in a pie shell that she nearly set on fire in the oven.
When I was younger, grandma and grampa used to take me to Church with them. The Hurley Reformed Church. It was probably because of that Sunday School that I decided that I didn't need some God watching over me. I had my family to watch over me. I remember being all silent and not doing what they told me to do because I wasn't religious and I wasn't about to be all religious with them. I think my grandma sometimes kept me upstairs because I wasn't bad, I just wasn't a part of them.
Then there was the time she was taking us to the elementary school to catch the summer school bus and stopped in the middle of the intersection to turn around and go back in the right direction. Bad intersection, bad idea to turn around. We almost got hit. Mom learned how to drive after that.
Did grandma ever come to my school play when I was in 1st grade? What about the choir concerts, or was that around the time that the Alzheimer's was setting in? I can't remember.
One day I'm going to look back on this and say, Grandma is here. And there. And quite frankly, her brain puts her everywhere. Everywhere is home, and yet nowhere is home. Why is that. But also, why is it that I felt more connected to my Dad's mother, Grandma Linda (who passed away a few years ago,) than I do to my mom's mother, who's lived in our own backyard since 1995?
I don't know. Why things happen at the end of Winter.