A Sunny Saturday Morning
Last week it had rained for several days and then Saturday was gorgeous. I got up very early last Saturday and logged onto my computer for some early morning news and folly.
I had gone to my parents' house the Friday before (who live next to me), sat with my grandma and my sons, fed them all dinner, and watched a movie with them until my parents got home.
The previous Thursday was rainy, too, but my old neighbor of 40+ years grabbed an umbrella, my kids and my grandmother and walked them up to the candy store around the block. 20 minutes after they left, the sky opened up and torrential downpours began. I got in my car and frantically sped up to the store, only to see them walking the aisles with the kids, trying to find the perfect candy, totally unaware that it had even rained.
So, last Saturday. I went outside with my coffee and my Pride and Prejudice. Got my mom's NY Times and local paper, tiptoed into her house, and placed them at the table so everyone would have them when they got up. A little while later I heard my mom giggling on the phone with my sister. My son ran over for some eggs...He likes to have breakfast with his grandparents and great-grandma...just as it's everyday for his seven whole years on earth. Funny how history repeats itself. I used to do the same thing. I bought the house next to my childhood home up in between my parents' home and my grandma's home. I used to go to their house on Saturday mornings for dippy eggs and toast. More recently, my grandma moved in with my parents and my sister bought her house, so essentially, we'll all be together.
My mom came over and sat on my stoop where we had our coffee and giggled about the mouse that the cats that have inhabited her yard left her yesterday. She left for only a minute or two when she began to holler for my husband. I thought for sure that another mouse was on the side of the house. We ran over to see what the commotion was and she told us that they were trying to wake my grandmother but she had died.
This week has been surreal. I'm tired. I'm sick of hearing that "if there was a way to go, that was it." She wasn't sick. Her own mother, my great-grandmother, lived until she was 99. My grandmother was 88. Everyone else hears 88 and says, "Well that was a nice long life." Well, it wasn't long enough. We've been cheated. We've been robbed. I don't want to hear how lucky I was to have her right next to me my entire life. I FUCKING KNOW HOW LUCKY I WAS. We gave each other a hug everyday for 37 years. She saw her great-grandchildren every day of their lives. She sat with my dog curled up at her feet everyday since we brought him home 6 years ago and laughed hysterically when he and the cat would chase each other around the house.
I gave a eulogy that said all the right things. I was composed, eloquent, dignified. People laughed, people cried. Everyone clapped me on the back and told me that it was beautiful..."Would you deliver mine?" FUCK YOU! As if THAT'S the speech I wanted to deliver and do a "great job?"
On the inside, I hate everyone and everything that comes across my path right now. On the outside, I'm The Rock of Gibraltar, smiling, thanking, agreeing that she had a Wonderful Capra-esque Life.
I know that this will eventually pass, but for right now, there's nothing that I can do to make myself feel better. I close my eyes and I replay the events from last Saturday. I don't want to go outside because the sky looks like the sky last Saturday. I can't pick up Pride and Prejudice. It took me a week to sit down here and look at this screen.
I know it'll fade, but not fast enough.
I had gone to my parents' house the Friday before (who live next to me), sat with my grandma and my sons, fed them all dinner, and watched a movie with them until my parents got home.
The previous Thursday was rainy, too, but my old neighbor of 40+ years grabbed an umbrella, my kids and my grandmother and walked them up to the candy store around the block. 20 minutes after they left, the sky opened up and torrential downpours began. I got in my car and frantically sped up to the store, only to see them walking the aisles with the kids, trying to find the perfect candy, totally unaware that it had even rained.
So, last Saturday. I went outside with my coffee and my Pride and Prejudice. Got my mom's NY Times and local paper, tiptoed into her house, and placed them at the table so everyone would have them when they got up. A little while later I heard my mom giggling on the phone with my sister. My son ran over for some eggs...He likes to have breakfast with his grandparents and great-grandma...just as it's everyday for his seven whole years on earth. Funny how history repeats itself. I used to do the same thing. I bought the house next to my childhood home up in between my parents' home and my grandma's home. I used to go to their house on Saturday mornings for dippy eggs and toast. More recently, my grandma moved in with my parents and my sister bought her house, so essentially, we'll all be together.
My mom came over and sat on my stoop where we had our coffee and giggled about the mouse that the cats that have inhabited her yard left her yesterday. She left for only a minute or two when she began to holler for my husband. I thought for sure that another mouse was on the side of the house. We ran over to see what the commotion was and she told us that they were trying to wake my grandmother but she had died.
This week has been surreal. I'm tired. I'm sick of hearing that "if there was a way to go, that was it." She wasn't sick. Her own mother, my great-grandmother, lived until she was 99. My grandmother was 88. Everyone else hears 88 and says, "Well that was a nice long life." Well, it wasn't long enough. We've been cheated. We've been robbed. I don't want to hear how lucky I was to have her right next to me my entire life. I FUCKING KNOW HOW LUCKY I WAS. We gave each other a hug everyday for 37 years. She saw her great-grandchildren every day of their lives. She sat with my dog curled up at her feet everyday since we brought him home 6 years ago and laughed hysterically when he and the cat would chase each other around the house.
I gave a eulogy that said all the right things. I was composed, eloquent, dignified. People laughed, people cried. Everyone clapped me on the back and told me that it was beautiful..."Would you deliver mine?" FUCK YOU! As if THAT'S the speech I wanted to deliver and do a "great job?"
On the inside, I hate everyone and everything that comes across my path right now. On the outside, I'm The Rock of Gibraltar, smiling, thanking, agreeing that she had a Wonderful Capra-esque Life.
I know that this will eventually pass, but for right now, there's nothing that I can do to make myself feel better. I close my eyes and I replay the events from last Saturday. I don't want to go outside because the sky looks like the sky last Saturday. I can't pick up Pride and Prejudice. It took me a week to sit down here and look at this screen.
I know it'll fade, but not fast enough.