Jul 14, 2007

Remembering Vera...

This blog has been the hardest one I have ever tried to write. The one you are reading is its fourth incarnation. I'm having difficulty with words... I have pictures and cards that I have scanned and would like to share with you, but I really wanted to use words!

I think part of my problem is too much negativity still swirling around my heart from a somewhat unpleasant people...

I could write 10 pages just venting but I really don't want to do that. I want to focus on the positive. Of course, at the heart of the matter is my grandmother's passing. Where's the positive in that? She's in a better place, I know that in my heart, but I miss her. I have missed her for 20 years.

See, 20 years ago when I was 13 my Grandmother had an aneurysm.

She didn't die, but she lost her mind. She didn't recognize me, her only granddaughter. Something inside me shut off that day and did not return until we spread her ashes...

I want to write more. I want to paint a picture of who she was so you can see why I loved her so much. I want to sing her song.

She was so full of life. She knew so much about the world around her...

See, my folks divorced when I was 11 and my Mum moved out. I stayed with my Dad, but my Gramma, my Mum's Mum, was only a small cornfield away.

I loved running through the tall stalks to her house. I'd pretend the field was an ocean with waves of corn. She indulged my childhood imagination... Upon popping out of the field, I might find her hanging clothes to dry out back... Long white sheets I'd twirl between... We'd both giggle.

She had strawberries, blueberries, asparagus, and rhubarb all growing in her yard... She'd make strawberry rhubarb pie and it tasted like Heaven, especially with a dollop of real vanilla ice cream. Mmmm...

She used to pick buttercups and hold them under my chin, laugh and say, "You must really love butter!" When I'd ask her how she knew, she'd explain it was because of how much the yellow from the flower reflected off my chin.

Sometimes she'd tell me stories as we walked through the yard about the fairies who lived in the moss and how they'd gather under mushrooms on rainy days... Giant umbrellas protecting their translucent wings from the storm overhead.

There were nymphs of some sort who lived in the trees and when the wind whipped them about on chilly Autumn days, she'd say, "Listen... Listen to the trees. What do you hear?" I heard all sorts of strange noises... She said the nymphs were in the trees playing with their recent acquisitions... And what were those? Everything you ever thought you lost... Old keys, a sock, a tin pan, a hat... These were things the nymphs collected and would play with on those windy days creating atonal symphonies.

She said that cats were painted by angels and that Tortoise shell and Calicos were extra special because the angels would use all their different paints and splatter them on... Angel paintings for humans...

She made the world so magical. I miss her so much.

She'd take me on long walks "down the lane" to this small pond and giant rock. She told me that Indian spirits dwelled there and I could feel them. I'd climb up onto the rock and lay my head down listening to the quiet of the woods and feeling the sun's warmth radiate up from the rock.

She saw so much more than most folk in the simplicity of life.

She taught me how to read, write, and do basic math before I even went to kindergarten. We'd play Parcheesi or dolls... She'd help me make new clothes for my Barbie's.

She indulged my creative side. She fed my soul. I remember writing my first story ever... About a fawn... Sort of like Bambi only not sad.

She knew the names of all the flowers and trees and birds... We'd nosh on Checker Berries and chew on Sassafras leaves.

She taught me the songs of the birds, all of which she knew by heart. We'd be inside and if she heard a Whippoorwill, she'd call me to the window to see...

Where do these memories go when a person dies? I don't recall all these little details she knew about nature like instinct. I miss her mind. I miss her magic. I miss her creativity.

Vera is my soul and I'm a lost 13 year old looking for home.


"Tomorrow"
Won't you come back tomorrow
Won't you come back tomorrow
Won't you come back tomorrow
Can I sleep tonight

Outside, somebody's outside
Somebody's knocking at the door
There's a black car parked at the side of the road
Don't go to the door
Don't go to the door
I'm going out
I'm going outside, mother
I'm going out there

Won't you be back tomorrow
Won't you be back tomorrow
Will you be back tomorrow

Who broke the window
Who broke down the door
Who tore the curtain
And who was it for
Who heals the wounds
Who heals the scars
Open the door
Open the door

Won't you come back tomorrow
Won't you be back tomorrow
Will you be back tomorrow
Can I sleep tonight

'Cause I want you, I want you
I really want you, I want
I want you to be back tomorrow
I want you to be back tomorrow
Won't you be back tomorrow
Won't you be back tomorrow
Won't you be back tomorrow
Will you be back tomorrow

Open up, open up to the love of God
To the love of He who made the blind to see
He's coming back
He's coming back
I believe Him
Jesus is coming
I'm gonna be there
I'm gonna be there, mother
I'm gonna be there, mother
I'm gonna be there
And you're gonna be there
-U2
Post a Comment