The Right Words

Do you ever feel like the right words aren’t actually words?

A look, a gesture, a touch, a hug

These signify just as much or more sometimes

I think I can be good at expressing myself, but not so much when feelings come into play

At that point, I need the physical connection, otherwise I’m just too overwhelmed to do or say anything.

But after I untangle my spider web heart, I can usually come up with the words my soul wants to say. It just takes me a minute, or a few days.

I just adore you, you know. And I was really so happy to see you. To know you’re safe, you’re well, you’re here.

The house that speaks

At night, when it’s chilly

And I have to take an extra hot shower or bath

Sealing up the windows, and doors that let the cracks of light in

And it feels like a house on the opposite coast

Instead of a California residence

Then I think

There’s something about the idiosyncrasies

That make it feel like a relationship

With a person not a place

Because a person has quirks, things you like and things you tolerate

And you have the same things in your relationship with yourself, things you appreciate and things you despise

The same is with this home

Not sterile and new

Not energy efficient or polished

But rough and worn

A path hewn out back with found stones

I always wanted a place like this

One from the 30’s…almost 100 years old

One that would communicate

Back to me

Do you want to go shopping?

Because I woke up today and wanted to write to you. 
I wanted to call you
And say
I’m coming over this weekend. 
Let’s go shopping
Do you need new shoes?
I wanted to hear you say
Do you want to spend the night, and maybe watch a movie?
Here’s where I keep pictures of Joe
Not your Grandpa
But Joe
So tender
Endearing, even
That softer side of you
I miss your hands, I miss hugging you
I miss how you teased me
I miss your smile and your laugh
I guess I could go to Target, or Costco or Kohl’s 
And push a cart around
And remember you

Connection, daily

When she died, I felt a sense of happiness.

Not happy that she was gone, for I was profoundly sad,

More like her happiness moved through me.

It lit me up, for days afterward.

I thought about all of our time together.

How much we laughed together.

How much I loved the simple moments with her.

So many things I do because she did them.

And I didn’t even know it at the time.

The night before she died. I stayed over.

I got to hold her hand in my own.
I felt her skin, her warmth, her smell.

I want to feel her warmth again, but only in my memory bank, can I experience

The sense of her I long for.

She didn’t have daughters, and she and dad were close, especially when he was younger.

When I spent time with her, I felt connected in a daughter way, in a way that maybe she was mothering me in the style she would mother a little girl.

I have your barrettes, Grandma, the ones you sent me.

I’ll keep them always, I’ll wear them proudly, I’ll think of you.

I wish I’d been braver

To say it back then. To say I love you the few times I actually felt it. And not to just assume my actions, or my smile, spoke for me.

To actually reach out when it was needed, when my dreams told me I should. Someone might be here now, living among us, but I didn’t. Why was I afraid?

It’s been a lifelong challenge, to make sure I’m not so other-focused that I forget myself, my own needs and desires. And not let others determine my choices. It feels both brave, and scary to admit this.

And I guess that is the point.

She’ll know

My grandma is dying.

Hospice is here. She lays in a bed in my parent’s living room, day and night.

I’ve cried twice now, both times in front of my dad.

My dad is her son.

He is being strong for everybody.

He has the table set up with documents.

He keeps the order of the day, her routine meal times, half-syringes of water for when she forgets to drink. He communicates with the hospice staff.

He tells me he is trying to keep her comfortable.

I asked him yesterday if he has said all he wants to, to her.

He has.

I have too. I got a chance to thank her, for being my grandma. She squeezed my hand.

I have so many memories of us; her later years are my favorites.

When her health was starting to decline and she needed help and she allowed me to take her places, like the doctor. When she trusted me, and asked me questions, and I was able to help her if she needed someone.

I felt very close to her. I’ve felt close to her since I was around 30.

It’s like we were two girlfriends. She always joked with me about dating. She liked to hear the details. She liked to share them too.

She told me she went out with my grandpa because he had a shiny blue car and she thought he’d be a fun date. I think they met when she was 19. I always liked when she told me about their younger years together.

I think about a picture they have, posed in front of that blue car. My grandpa looks protective of her. My grandma looks radiant and in love. I think they’re holding hands, but it’s almost like they’re connected all throughout, so close together. My grandpa thought she was the most beautiful woman, dark hair and bright blue eyes. She thought he was fun and exciting, passionate. Dark hair and eyes, brown skin. Tattoos. He’d been in the Navy. He’d been places. They danced together. I loved to watch them.

She told me to “go for the best kisser”. What I took that to mean is to go for the person you can’t wait to kiss, and the one you never want to stop kissing. For her, I sincerely believe that was always Joe.

We talked about the difference, between dating and being in love. She asked me good questions.

I love these talks we had. I miss that now, and I will miss it later.

I’m crying in stages.

I cried once at the hospital, because I could see that she was “in and out”, in that limbo state where you drift between this world and the next.

And I cried last night.

Because my dad said,

She’ll know when she’s ready to go.

Mentor Teacher

I was assigned a mentor teacher

I was 25 years old

I worked in a school that was more like a family

A catholic church, complete with convent

Turned parochial parish school

From this place I kept many relationships

And some dwindled

But this one remains

Strong as ever

We talk mostly by phone

Once a year on our birthdays

And another time if something major changes in either of our worlds

It’s a relationship I’m so grateful for

She’s a woman of strong faith

Her faith is her guidepost, and at times, has been mine too

I admire spiritual maturity and her professional wisdom

When I want to be heard, understood and accepted

About something going on, particularly in my work world

Or in my faith or spiritual world

I look to her. And for her.

I look for lessons.

From her I learned many things

How to pray the rosary at someone’s death bed

How to pray in general

How to celebrate God’s love in the little things

How to look for miracles

How to demonstrate to a child that they are so worthy

How to conclude a conversation “Stay in the state of grace. Love you”.

How to challenge someone and still maintain a connection.

How to protect someone’s heart, even as you correct them.

How to lull a child off to sleep…rhythmic shushing and a goodnight prayer

Her stability gives me faith

Her faith helps me feel protected

Sometimes we receive people in our lives, who weren’t there in the beginning

But feel like they were there all along

Ocean Side

Let’s go to the ocean

Because that is still open

We can walk along the paths and sit on the rocks

Dream in the sun and stare at the horizon

So many dreams to envision out there

Where it’s all possible

Let us do this without limits

Without fear

Without worry or anxiety

Budgets and time tables will come later

For now, let’s stay in the moment

In the purpose

In the present

And dream it into existence.