Sadness

Heather's grandfather passed away on Sunday from lung cancer. I only met him once, this past summer when Rae and I crashed the Flanagans' graduation party. I'm glad I got the chance.

One week from Friday it will have been one year since my mom died. Can you believe it? I can't, really. It seems like I was just talking to her yesterday, putting in a request for baked goods at school or getting the latest gossip on Jen or something. Ironically, I realized the other day that I can't remember my last conversation with her. I know it was a couple of days beforehand, maybe that Tuesday, but I don't remember what we talked about. Probably the same usual things. So often the last few years I called her because I just wanted to talk to her, to make sure she was OK. Maybe we talked about my birthday and what I wanted, of which all I can recall is requesting a Stop and Shop gift certificate (of course, as I later learned from her to-do list, she hadn't even gotten my present by that Thursday, even though my birthday was going to be Sunday. tsk tsk) I mean, I guess it's much better to have had a fairly banal last conversation with her rather than the big fight that usually happens before someone dies in a movie, you know?

I do remember the last time I saw her, and I feel lucky that even with my poor memory, this remains very clear. She came to school the first week we were there to bring the vacuum, some diet coke and other odds and ends. I don't remember what she was wearing, maybe her leather coat, but I don't think so. She had the dog with her, and we left him penned up in my room while we went out shopping for groceries. She brought those awesome pumpkin squares and told us how she'd made two batches but the dog tripped her on the stairs and she dropped one. I wrote a poem about that, actually; in true testament to my mom's lax idea of housekeeping, when I got home the night she died, there was the stain, faded, but still brown on a blue carpet, right on the stairs. I like remembering her standing there in the townhouse kitchen with my friends, eating treats. I remember that she always looked so small standing next to other people, but if you knew her, you knew she was a whirlwind.

I miss her a lot, especially when there's something I'm proud of and I just want to be able to call her and tell her, even though I know she'd only say "Oh, very nice," in that calm way of hers. I wish I could call and tell her all the little details about my job and my apartment even though she'd probably be watching TV at the same time and only half listening. I try to imagine her visiting here, inspecting the rooms and nodding like she did when I showed her around the townhouse, but it's hard imagining her somewhere she's never been. Actually, it's sort of easier imagining my dad in here because I can imagine him complaining about my back porch and how easy it would be for a burglar. I heard his voice in my head a few days ago when I was turning on the heat in here for the first time, and I ran around making sure nothing was anywhere remotely near the baseboard heaters so it wouldn't catch on fire. Probably nothing would ever catch on fire at a mere 68 degrees, but JTD is on my shoulder like a little paranoid angel. I miss him too, and then I'll miss sitting in our table in Giovanni's, the four of us, making jokes about each other, and then I'll remember sitting in another booth, just three of us them, making fun of him. Maybe sometime Jen and I will go there and sit and laugh at both of them. She's coming next Friday, and we're going to go visit my aunts on Saturday. I anticipate that there will be some awkward crying on Jen's part and some irritation on my part, but I really am looking forward to seeing her. My mom would probably be so annoyed seeing how good we get along as soon as our parents are out of the picture! All those times she pleaded with us to be nice to each other. Turns out all we needed was for my dad's prophecy to come true. It is just the two of us now.