Gram.
Never will I say goodbye, as she is always with me.
Tami's Gramma
The little girl woke to the sound of the gentle rain falling outside. She sprang out of her bed and tumbled up the stairs to the kitchen. Sure enough! On the counter sat two bowls, two rolling pins, and two sheets of wax paper. They were going to make cookies!
There at the counter was Gram’s petite frame standing in her housecoat vigorously mixing the cookie dough. Her ashen hair gleamed under the lights as she turned to the little girl and smiled. The little girl returned the same smile.
“Are you ready to bake?” Gram asked in her welcoming and loving voice.
“Yup. And the oven will warm up the house a bit, too,” the little girl said matter-of-factly. Gram laughed at hearing her own words.
The granddaughter tried so hard to do exactly what Gram did. When Gram put a pinch of flour on her rolling pin, the serious little girl put a handful on hers. When Gram pressed the cookie dough onto the wax paper, the frustrated little girl had to scrape hers off the rolling pin. Half the dough always ended up in her stomach.
She made a mess as she always did. Gram cleaned the flour and dough that covered the kitchen as she always did. And just as Gram was putting the last batch of cookies into the oven and washing the last dish, the little girl was already upstairs running her bath before Gram even had to ask.
***
Her first day off from work in what seemed like forever, and of course it was raining. “Oh well,” she thought. “I might as well watch soap operas with Gram.”
She ran down the stairs and plopped down next to Gram’s chair. Gram sat there as she did every day at 3:00 pm with a cigarette in one hand and a cup of tea on the end table next to her. “Oh, God!” Gram said sarcastically. “Now, don’t talk to me during my program.”
“Don’t worry,” the girl said.
The television showed a handsome young man serenading his pregnant bride. As their hands touched the woman’s swollen stomach, tears flowed down the girl’s cheeks. A box of tissues hit her in the head as Gram snickered. “I can’t help It,” the girl wept.
Gram looked at her granddaughter’s tears with all seriousness and smiled. “You feel very deeply, don’t you?” she said warmly.
“Just shut up,” the girl said as she wiped her tears.
***
I woke up crying – to this day I don’t know why – to the sound of pouring rain and roaring thunder. Gram always did love thunder storms. Suddenly the phone rang. My hand trembled as I answered it. Gram had died.
I stared ahead, not knowing what to do or what to feel. In front of me was the mirror on my bureau. I saw in my reflection a little girl, scared and alone, who couldn’t move; who couldn’t even cry.
I sat that way, staring at the helpless little girl who wanted to scream that it wasn’t fair. No tears could replace the anger of that little girl who wanted her grandma back to watch her graduate from college and fall in love and have a baby. I didn’t want to be strong. But I felt I had to be.
***
