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Hey Grandmommy.
happy birthday to you.
it's weird living in your old town of Macon. It's weird that the first year I moved here, they tore your house down. I joined the historic society and tried a little to save it. I'm sorry.
I was 11 when you went nuts due to your strokes.
God lady, god. you were the most important human being in my life - the safety - the bolthole - the kindness.
home was so fucking chaotic. I doubt you knew that. your first daughter is a champ at hiding shit and putting on a facade. You liked Bill, but if you knew what he had done to your grandchildren, you'd probably ... I don't really know what you'd do. I didn't know you like that. I knew you as the lady I'd visit who had a shelf in the closet just for crayons and pens and paper for me. You bought the expensive paper with the fancy borders. I would wake up so happy. I probably visited you in the summer only, but I remember Skip Carey and listening on the radio as we went to bed.
You were there when I first got my period.
Your house was a haven. We all love you, but I'm the only kid that got to stay with you by myself. It was blissful. My strongest memory of you is waking up in your bed next to that wedge pillow you had. You'd be humming or singing in the kitchen, and I would get on your pillow and just... feel happy. you were always cooking for me - my favorites: fried okra, peach cobbler, and pot roast. You had a huge huge tv - like furniture huge bulky. We'd watch hee-haw and the oral Roberts show, the tower o power, the mandrell sisters. You hated when John Denver sang with his eyes closed. and you'd make toast tite cheese sandwiches with velveeta cheese for lunch. we would sit on your balcony in the evenings and play "I spy".
You would run your sweeper through the house every day. You had a red and clear glass candy jar that I would try so very hard to keep silent every time I got some candy. Already, Joan had put it in me not to be fat - oh well. You took me to get my picture taken. You took me with you on walks with the other old ladies.
I loved you.
My other favorite memory is that bedtime - one of our favorites - you would tell me stories with me as the princess. We would giggle so much. I remember my mom was staying over before she took me back the next day and she was in your guest room one night and she actually yelled, "why are you two talking so much!", and I knew she was jealous - so I got out of bed with Grandmommy and went to sleep with my mother. She bitched twenty minutes later because I couldn't keep still and tossed and turned. I felt bad... again.
You would always let me win candy land. For Christmas, you'd get me a lifesaver candy book and those golden coins that were chocolate. I would look at your picture albums all the time. Once asking you, "what was it like when the world turned to color"?
god it's been hard grand mommy. I got shattered a little bit caring too hard and not having that shield that my mom and sis have. I sometimes felt like I was the guard over the tomb of the unknown soldier - caring for the pain - making sure no one got away with it.
well they did. oh well.
enough of that.
I still know all of your Christmas things. I do Christmas the same way you do now - just four or five things put out and a ceramic tree, but that last year before your mind went, I asked if we could have a real tree with colored lights and tinsel and fake snow - all the stuff my mom thought was tacky. Grandmommy did it - all of it.
I'm sure you weren't perfect, and I've had a lot of struggle with getting to even see if your firstborn daughter can ever ... feel and hug and emote, but that ship has likely long sailed. I also appreciate the ten thousand dollars you gave us all. Apparently mine went towards my college career. Thanks G.
and this hasn't been the best essay and so much of it makes me feel like it's a letter folded and unfolded so many times. but thank you.
thank you
thank you
thank you
thank you
I'll visit your grave today. I do it pretty often actually and always feel a bit of belonging.
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