NaJoMo – 17

I couldn’t bring myself to post this last night. I had it written, all set to go – and it hurt to much to think.

Saturday was my grandmother’s birthday. My mom went down to be with her brothers and sister. No one is dealing well.

I just about broke down in class today. One of my students was talking about her grandmother that passed away last year, that she wanted to cook something last week and out of habit she picked up the phone and dialed her grandmother’s number to ask for the recipe, and she started crying when she got the message the number had been disconnected.

On the way home I was wondering what would happen if I called my grandmother’s number, if I would get an answering machine still, or the “no longer in service” message. Either way, I can’t deal. I’m forgetting what her voice sounded like . . . which got me thinking, I don’t remember my other grandmother’s voice. I don’t remember my grandfather’s. . .

I ended up crying on the way home. Curled up in my bed hugging my old blanket my grandmother made for me as a baby, staring at the silly little stuffed animals that I treasure. The little red bear that was the last birthday present from by my grandfather and my grandmother. The doll she gave me as a baby that I have had since I was born. The little stuffed basset hound that my grandfather was holding when he passed.

Toys. I have toys to remember the people I loved. I have memories, but I am terrified of those fading.

And right now, I so desperately want to hear their voices.