Wednesday morning, I put on my purple pants, because Grandma liked them, and I grabbed a photo book and picture frame, while Mom grabbed a bag and, well, she grabbed Grandma. It was the day of her memorial, for her church family. In short, it was good. People came, told some stories, said they’d miss her. They talked about her sense of humor. They talked about how much she loved them, how much she was involved in their lives. They all loved her, and she loved them back, they thought.
It wasn’t until afterwards that Mom cried. I didn’t get a clear answer as to why. I just thought it was the same reason as before. She’s gone. That’s all, she’s just gone.
It wasn’t until afterwards that I cried. I got some snacks, sat down with Mom across from me, and I finally cried. Well, I shed a couple of tears. Two weeks and three days later, I showed some emotion. I knew it would come, I know the time was going to come when I finally knew how I felt. And now, I actually had a feeling.
“I thought you were mad at me” I told Mom later on, at home. “I was” she said. “You could cry for someone you never met, but you couldn’t cry for your own grandma.” Yes, this was true. I was sad, and I knew it. I wasn’t sad for Grandma. I didn’t know what I was. Numb, that’s what I was. I needed time to find it. I couldn’t have found it any other way, except for now.
I was mad. I was mad because her church was her family. “How could she love them, and not show us, her actual family?” I said to Mom. “We never saw her sense of humor.” I was mad because she never showed us her, she never showed us her, when she showed everyone else herself. Yea, I was mad.
Now we have closure. We sat in the living room and decided it was time to make our home ours. We moved a table that had been in the same place for twenty-two years. It looked better. We got rid of a lot of her antiques, we changed the blankets on her bed. Sorry Grandma, this isn’t your house anymore.
And now, that’s it. It’s time to move on. There’s nothing more to say. Mom and I can let go now. We have a house, we can make it ours. It’s literally just the two of us now (the three of us, if you count Shasta). I don’t mean to move Grandma out so fast, but we don’t need everything she left. We are keeping little things here and there, but we’re making room for our things. We’re not antique people, we’re toy people. We’re not classic book people, we’re The Walking Dead book people.
It’s time to change.
It’s time to move on.