Grief. Emptiness. Shock. Sadness. Anger. Pain. Numb.
Nothing and everything.
Memories flooding in. Sifting through my mind to pick out the memories of her. Of us together. Of the ways in which she touched my life.
There are a lot of things in my kitchen that will always remind me of my grandma. The cookbooks from the 1930’s and 40’s that she gave to me. Published in Detroit, where she grew up. The sifter to sift flour and the special pan to make pancakes. The baking pan for Wedding Tea Cakes, the desert she made for the wedding shower my mom had for me in Mi. while I was in London and we did it all via skype.
Just before we left Cairo for our holiday in Australia, I was going through the closet, packing some sweaters away that I wouldn’t be wearing for the winter because they were too bulky. I hesitated when I came across one my grandma gave me. It was a shawl type cover, knitted. I almost packed it away but decided not to. Now it waits for my return.
I’m going to take a bath. I’m going to remember the smiles and conversations. The summer we both lived at my mom’s. How much I learned about her, from her. The skirt she helped my mom sew for me. The advice she gave me on the quilt I was sewing. The stories she told me about her childhood.
I hate being so far away from my family. I feared this would happen. I knew that it would. My grandma just died. And there is no one around me who knows her. Who has hugged her like I have. Who has grown up knowing her their whole life.
I’m thankful I was there for a couple months this summer and she got to know Sebastian. I’m thankful we were there last Thanksgiving and she got to know Ali. But I’m always going to regret not being there now. And accepting her being gone without being there, I don’t know how possible that will be.