I'm thinking about writing a book using the 57 messages my Grammy has left on my Uncle Buster's answering machine. If nothing else, it would be something beautiful to share with my family. The recordings range from "I want Pam to have the cookie jar..." to, "I'm getting weaker Buster, I don't know how much longer I'll be here." There is one that starts with "I love you Buster. Be a good boy so we can hold hands again someday upstairs." Some messages are funny, some are sad, and they are all worth keeping because she's Grammy.
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Grammy woke Friday morning feeling frightened that her hour was up and wanted us to come. I went. When we first learned of her tumor I wondered if she would die Motercycle Week.
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Motorcycle Week in Laconia started this weekend. When I was a kid, it was Motercyle Weekend. Streaking was in then, I was four or five and saw a naked man for the first time. I thought it looked like men had patches of mushrooms growing between their legs. My Uncle Buster told me some wild stories about the early years of Motorcycle Weekend. He was there the year Marshal Law was declared. That tale is best told by him.
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Today is Sunday and she is still with us. I spent 10 hours pampering her yesterday. For myself I want more hours. For her I hope she finds the peace she seeks.
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2 comments:
The book idea is GREAT...sounds like the perfect way to honor her spirit once she's no longer with you.
On a completely unrelated topic? I snorted when I read your new updated profile. Very Nice.
OK - Just one thing to say as SOON as I read your idea for your book - theater. This is a play in my mind already! I am always looking for ways to put together plays with women in them, and especially with older women. Nice...
The other thing I thought was that I wanted to share a poem with you from the last page of my play "Angel in the Fire" which is a lot about my own Gramma - This is the last thing in the play, as the grandmother passes away, she walks slowly forward, raising her hands, and her daughter and grandmother back slowly back (it looks like a camera zooming in on her) She takes the hand of her own mother in heaven-
"The subtle hum of the world continuing, the moment of separation, the quiet step up; taking Mama's hand in this moment I leave behind the soft wet imprint of one woman, the breath and sigh of life, a small beam of lamplight where before there was only the subtle hum of the world."
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