welcome readers & writers. the family reunion i'm attending this weekend reminds me how much i miss my Grammie, who passed away on the first day of spring, 2009, at the age of eighty-nine. a strong, warm and loving woman, her life's journey proved tremendously difficult at times. the story of her life inspires me deeply. that is her bequest to me. the character of GRAM in my recently completed novel is patterned mostly after Grammie. below is an excerpt from the book, titled Friday, Saturday, Someday:
When the attorney read the will, he handed Glory a letter from Gram – a final goodbye – alive with words of affirmation for all her granddaughter had accomplished. The note, written in Gram’s careful (now wobbly) schoolmarm hand, urged her, “Never stop sprinting for the stars, sweet pea, as you’ve aimed to do since the moment you took your first step.” Glory would never forget how gently the understanding dawned, of just what Gram’s bequest to her would mean. Like the unhurried warming of sunrise after that infamous dark dawn, Gram’s letter signified that the hardest part might finally be over. The hard part had been seeing her so frail, just a wisp of the vivacious, solid woman she used to be. The hard part had been ferreting away every spare moment to spend at the hospital and, when she couldn’t be there, pining to be closer as the minutes drained away so wastefully, so abruptly. The hard part had been the very end, when Gram had squeezed Glory’s hand for the last time. When she'd accepted a kiss from Tommy and warbled, “I love you, darling boys,” to her sons. Not long after that, she'd drifted off to sleep and, somewhere in that mysterious space between nodding off and waking up, she swam away into the dark warm waters of a ten day coma before finally succumbing. Even now, her papery soft wrinkled hand was still palpable in Glory’s own hand, as was the scent of her – baby powder and gardenias.
what story of remembrance are you inspired to tell today? i'd love to read it. post it in the comments section below - 200(ish) words or less. blessings!
(It's a bit longer than allowed...sorry! I tried to cut it down, but I just couldn't!)
ReplyDeleteMolly: A Good Dog Who Did Bad Things
It was love at first sight. She was nuzzling an orange marmalade cat, standing on the other side of the glass door, just staring at me. Her body wriggled in excitement, and her head cocked to the left, her ears flicking back and forth. Everything about her begged to be cuddled, and loved. I hadn’t even met her, and yet, I knew she was the one.
We’d been looking for a long time. We’d been to several places, but nothing had been right. Going to look that night had been a crapshoot—we didn’t expect anything. I mean, it was a Tuesday night, and Dad was nearly three hours away in Memphis where he was working, and Mom had already told us that she was not getting a puppy without Dad’s stamp of approval. And he wouldn’t be home until late on Friday night. But there she was. The perfect puppy. The man selling her told us that someone else had almost bought her—he’d even gotten so far as to walk out the front door with her, but then decided to take another puppy. She was the last one. And she was perfect.
Sure, she wasn’t exactly what you’d call the “perfect” Boston Terrier. She was big for a twelve week old Boston, and she had more freckling on her legs and chest than you’d expect on a twelve week old Boston, and her face was still a bit misshapen—but sometimes puppies have to grow into themselves before they really fit breed standards. I had to have her. She was perfect. To my third grade self, no other puppy would do. She was the one.
Fortunately, mom agreed. We came back the next night to pick her up, under the condition that none of us could tell Dad. This was a challenge for me, but we did it. And for the next eleven and a half years, she was the perfect dog for me. She never grew into breed standards—not surprising considering she wasn’t the purebred we thought we’d purchased. A bit mischievous and misbehaving, but more loving and faithful than you can even imagine. Only one word can really describe the relationship between a girl and her dog: love.
It is only 6 days away from what would have been my grandmother's 83rd birthday. She was born Kathryn Louise Graham on August 7, 1927 at Presbyterian Hospital in Albuquerque NM, the second or third child (and first daughter) to Mini Mae Gamble Graham and Richard "Dick" Graham. The photos I have seen of her as a child show a round cheeked, dimpled face under pale blonde curled hair. I don't know if it had been naturally curly or if my great grandmother had wrapped it around rags, as they sometimes did back then, but in my opinion she looked like a cherub. I have one particular picture of her in my mind which, when I see her again in heaven I will ask her about: she is sitting next to one of her brothers, short dress resting on her legs well above her knees and in her hand is a white rat. Was is a beloved pet? Did it belong to her or her brother? Or was it a prop used to entice the children to sit still for the photographer?
ReplyDeleteUntil I know the answer for sure,I will imagine her answers, and each time it will @ <E ne. But I will continue to ask her, none the less, so I can hear her voice again even if it is only in my mind.