Isn’t it funny how the most commonplace things can suddenly take you back to another place or time? The weather here has been cool, and after a summer of the house hermetically sealed in air conditioned comfort, it has been nice to open all the windows and let the fresh air in. We have all the windows open, and today as I was leaving the guest room, the little gust of air from the window made the door sound a certain hollow way as I closed it, and I was suddenly transported back in time to my father’s mother’s house. The door just shut the exact same way. Weird. I felt like a little kid. My grandmothers house was just a place of love. Noschool, only the books we wanted to read, those little boxes of cereal for breakfast with raisin toast and, honestly, whatever else you wanted Grandmother (never GrandMA!) to make for you. Aunts and uncles in and out of the house, the obligitory single afternoon at “Other Grandma’s” house (after which we were relieved to return to her house!), and little bowls of Hershey kisses everywhere. My whole family seemed happier. Now that I have my own inlaws and have a more adult perspective of the relationship my mother had with my fathers parents, I am sure that the adult visits were somewhat less carefree than mine, but they did a great job of hiding all of that from us kids.
I miss my grandmother. She would have loved to see her great grandkids, and I am so, so sorry that she never got to. My son is named after her husband and my dad. I remember being enveloped in hugs of Estee Lauder perfume, her always bright red fingernails (a lady always has her nails done!) and her smile. Many times I’d catch her watching us play, with a fantastic smile on her face – she was always just so happy, as she said, to have her house noisy again.
So I cherish the moments when I flash back to something that reminds me of her, that might make me feel like she’s still here. I feel a tug of pain, but then a relief that I can still feel that way – something more than just a 2 dimensional memory.
