letters to our children | august
bud & bean, this aging thing, it's a part of life i suppose. the topic itself is weighty.
last weekend we spent time with (great) grandma mary at aunty's house.
helping care for her. listening to stories. laughing.
she's getting old but her sense of humor is still the same.
she's going deaf in her left ear. she sleeps a lot. the arthritis in her left foot is so bad that she needs help to walk.
her feet are very swollen. my feet feel like sponges when i walk on them. it's from the butter. i know it's from the butter, there's salt in it.
she won't wear short sleeve shirts because she says she's too skinny. nobody needs to see a skinny old lady's arms.
she talks about not being around for very much longer. it's heartbreaking.
she's giving her belongings away. or taking them back. then giving them to someone else.
she still cusses.
melissa's going to bring that fuckin' camera and want to take pictures of my hands. she was right.
i think she secretly likes being photographed though. i hope that when i take her picture she feels important and worthy and loved.
i know she feels lonely.
gunga. grandma. grandma mooey.
she's laying on the couch. all 80 pounds of her. her physical health is wilting. her eyes look tired.
i bend down and give her a hug. i feel her bones through layers of clothing. i have a lump in my throat. it takes everything to not break down and cry.
see you in a few weeks. i say.
i love you. i don't think she heard me.
i love you, grandma.
her eyes well up with tears.
i love you too. she says quietly.
and begins to cry.
expressing love is a struggle for her, i think. it always has been.
her tears, each one, an offering of her love. the way she knows how.
i want you to remember her. i've been working on putting together a book for you. collecting stories about her life and photographing her every chance i get.
more than love,