SOL 15/31

Most of the memories I have of her are from conversations I had about her from other people.

“Aww, look at Rocky. He has his legs and arms tucked under his body.” I said to my mom, as I looked at our cat.

“My mom used to call that boating.” She said.

“Oh. Well he’s boating.” I responded.

That was one of the last times I talked about my grandma with another person. However, not all of my conversations about her were so… simple.

“What should we play?” Someone asked. I no longer remember who.

“How about hearts?” Someone else proposed.

“The one time I played hearts with my mom, I gave her the queen of spades and she quit.” My mom said. We all half laughed, half sighed.

“Yeah, Jean, your relationship with Gloria was – well, it had it’s ups and downs.” Said someone else, probably my grandpa.

“She loved your brothers Jean, but you were never quite her favorite. I bet if she was on a sinking ship and there were only so many lifeboats, she would give your brothers, or one of your brothers her seat. But with you, I’m not sure. She might leave you behind.” Said my Grandpa.

“No, she would quit the game of hearts and get onto the lifeboat while you were still playing.” Said my older brother. We all half laughed, half sighed again.

On the day we went to the funeral, I spent a long time getting ready to look nice. When I came downstairs, my mom looked at me with an almost sad, but touched face.

“You even parted your hair. It’s not that – important, honey.” She said softly.

“Well, it’s important to me.” I said proudly.

At the service, a relative of mine talked about going to my mom’s house when she was growing up, and seeing the kittens climbing on the screens of the screened-in porch. He also talked about how my grandma would always say: “Tell me when,” when she poured you a drink. I like to think that is my memory, to. I have a picture in my head of those kittens on the screens, and her voice telling me to: “tell me when.”

The only time I remember interacting with her was a few years ago, at a retirement home. She was deteriorating, mentally and physically. However, I like to think I could still see that grandma that I knew from other people’s memories. That woman that I pieced together in my mind from various stories. The woman that I knew through words. I keep her alive in my heart by picturing these other people’s memories, and saying all the little things she used to say, like “boating,” or, “tell me when.” But, I still miss my grandma. I regret not getting to know her better – I regret that all I have now is a collection of stories that creates my vision of her. I love my grandma, even though I barely know her.