I’m buzzed already which is no surprise but it’s sad because I have been trying (thinking, regretting, promising?) so hard to stay sober. But I excused myself today because tomorrow is going to be pretty rough for me. You see, it’s what would of been my grandmas 92nd birthday but she passed away in December and I’m still raw with pain over it.
Oh my goodness, how selfish can I be? She was 91, not 41! She had dementia and passed away peaceful in her sleep surrounded by her loved ones. She’s at peace now. I had over 30 wonderful years with her. But I don’t care. I loved her more than anyone I have ever loved and I want her back. Pre dementia, pre nursing home, pre kids and other distractions for me.
I consider myself to have a strong imagination with a decent memory. Often at night I have difficulty turning my brain off and falling asleep. So I fantasize. Always about being somewhere I can call home but the extent of my fantasy is in the details of where I am. I’m on a spaceship, flying through the Milky Way! I’m at my very own beach house, shaped like a giant clam shell with a huge ceiling skylight where I can see the moon and bookshelves for walls. I’m at a huge mansion with a library and many acres of a personal garden. I add little details until I am lulled to sleep. But since December I have only thought of one place when I close my eyes. My grandparents house in Richmond Hill Queens, where my mother and all my uncles grew up and where I spent years of my childhood. The house was sold when I was 21 but I remember every corner, every piece of furniture like it was sold yesterday. And at night I walk through the doors and remember every little detail, fantasy blurring memory, reality distorted by longing and sadness.
I have become a doubter in my old age of 32. No religion to connect to. Praying to a God more out of habit than faith. No believe whatsoever of an afterlife. My grandma would dispute this belief. She said my grandfather appeared at the foot of the staircase in Richmond Hill after he died and called her name. She was hit by a car and had an out of body experience. But as for me- nothing. I WANT to believe. But I just can’t. I need proof. My husband is an atheist and he’s seen ghosts (he claims)! Why can’t I see one lousy ghost to let me know there is SOMETHING after this world? We are Mulder (the believer who has never seen anything) and Scully (the doubter kidnapped by aliens).
Anyway, I often dream of my grandmother. The saddest part is every time I wake up I can’t remember the dream, the conversation, the details. I chalk it up to thinking about that Richmond Hill house as the last thing when I fall asleep. Believers would say she’s making contact in my dreams. But I just can’t bring myself to believe it. Not yet.
I love you Grandma. I miss you. Happy birthday in Heaven. ❤️