Apple Blossom Time by Lee Kuruganti © 2007
She
by Shelly Muir © 2007
Gregory, Doug, Stephen, Helen--she watched them leave, one by one.
She watched her eight grandchildren grow and have children of their own.
Now she sits in her chair and listens to the woes of her grandchildren's children. Who's dyeing their hair pink or getting a nose ring. Who has gotten some kind of funky tattoo.
With her distinctive laugh, she picks up the phone. She always has a story to tell and tells it like it is. The truth never scared her.
This is Grandma as I will always remember her, with tears sometimes, as it can't be helped...
She knew she wasn't feeling well, but hated to go to the doctor. Doctors were low on the food chain. Nevertheless, we took Grandma to her regular physician. It would be three weeks before the results were in.
Well, Grandma came home, sat in her chair and called “the gossip mafia.” She complained about doctors and how she would like to use them as target practice with her Smith & Wesson, which was left to her by her late husband. After developing a bit of cauliflower ear, as she called it, she put the phone down. I was sitting on the couch. What is it, she said. I told her I was worried about her and started to cry.
“Do not remember me with tears, child, only with laughter,” she said, plucking at her sleeve, “if you can only remember me with tears, don't remember me at all.”
Sounds like a bad condolence card, right? Well, that was how she thought. People talk like that at funerals all the time. Why can't you talk like that when you're the one they'll be talking about?
I helped Grandma get ready for bed. Some music, she said, to help her sleep. The Andrews Sisters, please. Start it with my all-time favorite, “Apple Blossom Time.” I watched her mouth the words of the song, then turned out the light.
The next morning at work I came back from break and saw the red light on my phone. It was the call I had been expecting--Gram had died in the night.
It has been six years now, and I can still see the chair, her chair, the seat cushion curved to her shape. As though she'd just stepped out to the kitchen to pour herself some tea, the kettle whistling cheerily.
With laughter, Grandma, sometimes with laughter...