Wednesday, May 11, 2011
I moved slightly to avoid the false mourners, and think about grandma. During my summers at her house, she would walk me to town every day to see the big waterfall at the park. It was a mile-trip, and grandma would hold my hand as we walked. She would say “when I squeeze your hand that is me saying I love you.” That was my grandma. She made the world more bearable in her absence, and more beautiful in her presence.
Not wanting to see the attendants, I closed my eyes. I imagined walking the mile with grandma to the big waterfall. I took one hand and placed it over my other hand. Gently, I squeezed my hand as Grandma did. I shut out the chatter around me and concentrated on Grandma’s face as she walked alongside me. I could hear the gentle rustling of her dress as she walked, and the rhythmic sound of her heels walking in the direction of the park. I felt the warmth of her hand surrounding mine. I felt the gentle squeeze that was her secret signal that she loved me. I was loved by grandma. I sat there for hours, pretending to be asleep so I could feel the gentle squeeze of grandma’s hand. With each squeeze I felt my body relax. Grandma is here. Grandma is here. If I close my eyes she will come to me and signal her love with a gentle squeeze. As long as I can shut out the noise, and close my eyes, grandma will come back to me and I will never have to be alone.