Wednesday, July 11, 2007


Today was a rough one.

I met my mother, and two of my sisters about an hour north of here to visit my Gramma in the hospital. She is 82 and has been living on her own, but in the past few months she has had two small strokes, one nasty fall (the reason for the current hospital stay), and set her kitchen on fire cooking kielbasa. It took her a while to remember who we all were, especially my mother. She kept looking at me and thinking I was my mother, but then she'd look at my sister and think she was me. [She also told us an amusing story of how the ballerinas that come floating through her walls at night keep her awake with all of their racket}.

But, the worst was when she out of the blue looked at me with a moment of clarity and mental acumen and said, "Jaimi, it's horrible, but I have forgotten how to do this (insert knitting hand gestures here)".

Not only has she forgotten how to knit, but her mind won't even let her remember the word for it. This is a woman who always was knitting something, usually winter hats and mittens for her annual church bazaars. Always on Susan Bates Silvalume needles. She thought Red Heart was good yarn (God bless her precious little heart).

The one steady thing in her life, through losing two husbands (one impossibly young), through losing more siblings than I can keep up with, through the hard times growing up on a farm being poor, was knitting. And now, when it could bring her the most comfort? Her mind has betrayed her body and it is just...g-o-n-e.

It bummed me out when she said it, but in typical me fashion, I didn't deal with it, and just soldiered on. Pushing it way down deep to fester and grow. Just call me Cleopatra.


I got home and to cheer myself up from feeling a little down about something (see how good I am at denial, I couldn't even place why I was feeling blue) I decided to read today's post at Crazy Aunt Purl "The Story of Roy".

If you haven't yet...please do, I'll wait.

[insert cheesy musak version of "Memories" here]



I started crying like I haven't in years. Like I didn't when my first marriage fell apart. Like I didn't when Patrick was diagnosed with any of his bad syndromes. Like I probably haven't since my parents got divorced when I was twelve. (Well, there was one time, when Alan and I had a pretty horrible fight right after we were married, but I choose not to remember that entire situation).

Well, to be honest, I didn't cry right away, I tried to hold it off, but then that ache in my throat got unbearable and I wept like a child.

It took me a bit to realize that it wasn't all about Laurie and Roy, although to be fair, a lot of it was.

A lot of it was grieving over the loss of my Gramma. Because even though she is physically still here, I can clearly foresee that the end is coming, and a lot of the really good stuff is gone already.

Me and Gram the day I picked up my wedding gown and brought it to her to see for the first time. You see, my first wedding wasn't fancy, so this was her first time seeing me as a traditional "bride".

It was a happy day.


Blogger pacalaga said...

So sorry about your gramma.
And I don't think I'll ever forgive you for pointing me to that damn post about the stupid cat that's making me try furiously to NOT cry in the middle of a room full of cubicles where I have no privacy.

6:06 PM  

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