I’ve been pushing off this trip for awhile. For many reasons. For one, my Mormor is ancient and extremely exhausting to manage. I love her to death but she’s like a three year old. Also, last time I went to grandpa’s, mom was with us. It was going to be different.
I’ve learned as I’ve gotten older, everything is a bitter sweet.
Laying in the guest bedroom of grandpa’s house with my husband next to me was so strange. I sat there in shock seeing my whole life replay. All of the trips to visit Mom’s dad. I sat on the same reversible blue crabs and stripes comforter writing on the blog about a silly crush. Years later, same bed, listening to a song that crush had sent me, because we’re “talking” now. Re-reading his text that said he missed me. Years pass, I’m older and my hair is longer. I’m on the phone with my boyfriend who misses me and wants me to come home. Suddenly I’m here, married, asking if he wants the fan on and sharing my Stanley with him. That is the sweet.
It’s my whole life but it went so fast. It’s like they say, ‘the days are long and the years are quick.’
Noticing mom’s empty bed. Waking up and not hearing her and grandpa talking in the kitchen. She would always lay her Bible open on the dresser. Realizing nobody wants to do headstands on the paddle boards with me or lay in the sun. Noticing the unspoken traditions we had together. I’m the one who makes the banana pancakes now. Grandpa asks me what we should do and have for lunch, like he did with mom. I wash the towels and bedding before we fly home like she used to. My Mom’s parents rely on me now to take care of them and to keep the family together. I don’t know if they even realize the roles switched to me. I don’t think you’re ever ready to fill your parent’s shoes when they leave, no matter your age. That’s the bitter.
All parents will leave. The peace is found in knowing you’ll see them again.
She was so noticeable absent, but still there somehow. In my mannerisms and joy for cooking. In my little brother’s kindness and his love of baking homemade cheesecakes. In Grandpa’s stories and the key lime pie he buys from Publix. Mormor’s laugh, and her obsession for the ocean. Weirdly enough, It feels like Mormor loves me to the same intensity that mom did. She doesn’t want anyone but me most of the time. Isaac’s patience to listen for as long as Grandpa wants to talk and his gentleness towards our little brother.
I saw her in everyone. It was bitter sweet.
(I’m done saying bitter sweet in this post but… I left my Stanley on the airplane so S got me an Owala).
Elaine Kate 