Grandma and Grandpa on their wedding day.
In January this year my Grandma passed. Things were rough when Grandpa passed a few years ago, but I bounced back fairly quickly. Maybe it was because he had Alzheimer's and we'd already been grieving the parts of him that it took. But Grandma's passing was so surreal. On one hand there was relief, she was in pain anymore, she was ready to move on and join Grandpa, and I realized I didn't have to hide big, important parts of my life anymore. Frankly, I don't give a shit what the rest of my family thinks of me. The one's who matter don't mind and those that mind, don't matter.
On the other hand, I think I was in shock for a little bit. She passed and then I was on a plane to fly down for her funeral. I stayed at my parent's house for a month.
Today, I watched the funeral video from Grandpa's funeral and there were some pictures of their house. My Dad grew up in that house and so did I. I remember how it smells, where nearly everything is, what the doors sound like when you open them, what the furnace sounds like... I close my eyes and I hear Grandma clinking in the kitchen on Saturday morning, the house smelling of cooking sausage and baking biscuits. I can hear Grandpa coming in from getting the paper and them talking about getting me up for the day. We're going to work in the garden today and Grandma will make salmon croquets and we'll have her home canned tomato juice, her homemade bread.
I miss my grandparents and the stability they provided. I miss talking to them, annoying them, playing tricks on Grandpa in good fun. I miss Grandpa shooting me with his cane in Olive Garden, showing me how to use his video camera, and chewing me out because of my shitty grammar. I miss sewing and cooking with Grandma, of her reading me stories before bed and yes, I asked her to do it even when I was in college. She thought I should be reading to her, but nah. I miss when Grandma would rub my face when a migraine would set in.
I miss their hugs.
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