The Prelude to Mourning

My grandma is dying. Maybe.

 

She is old. Her body and mind betraying her…fast or slow. We don’t even know that entirely.

 

I had a million things to say, a million things I wished I’d done or could do….

 

Now I just sit here staring at this cursor blinking out it’s accusations. Don’t you even care Selissa? …

 

My grandma has always gone for what she wanted, she was a musician and an independent woman when that just wasn’t done in polite society. In a rock band in her 40’s and 50’s, a truck driver in her 60’s, dating men in their 20’s in those same 60’s (grandma just pimped that hard)…even as family she was always a little bit bigger than life with her skinny jeans, fanny pack,  tube top, and her ever present half smoked menthol ultra light 100″s. I don’t remember a time when my grandmother wasn’t living the life she wanted because that was the way she wanted her life to be.

I do not want to be waiting for her to die.

I do not want this to be the waiting…whether it is one day or one week or one year.

cold tense fingers balled up in the pit of my stomach spreading out a long my veins and tendons, settling dark and forboding in my heart and mind.

I don’t know what I should I wish for Grandma. I want you to be happy and healthy and a little wild again…i want you to be what you want and need to be. I love you.

Strength

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