Grammy

            She was holding a big box on her lap smiling at me as I entered the living room. “I have a present for you,” she said.

            “Really?” I asked, overjoyed, taking the box right out of her hands. I placed it on the floor, sat down beside it and began unwrapping it. A big smile spread across my face as I began opening the lid, but it quickly disappeared once I saw what was inside. I pulled out a blue blanket that looked identical to the blanket she made for me when I was born. The same one I had carried around everywhere I went and slept with every night. I didn’t need another one; I loved the one I had. “Grammy,” I said slightly disappointed, “You already made me one just like this."

            She looked down at me and chuckled, “This isn’t for you. This is for your children.”

            “But Grandma,” I argued, still confused, “I’m only eight years old. I’m not having children for a while.”

            “That’s why I made it for you now,” she said smiling, “I might not be around when you have children.”

            “Of course you’ll be around,” I said, giving her a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. Why would she think such a thing?

---------------------------------------------------

            It was a cold winter day. I pulled my covers over my head and tried to sleep a little longer.  “Get up, Christine. Don’t make me ask you again,” my mom yelled up the stairs. I knew I couldn’t hide from the world much longer. I was going to have to get myself out of bed, put on those black clothes and enter the snow covered world, whether I wanted to or not. I hated funerals. It was so much easier mourning in bed by your self than outside in the cold, surrounded by people, most of whom are complete strangers.

            I slowly sat up in bed and removed the sheets. I gave my cherished blue blanket a squeeze before I put on my slippers and made my way to the bathroom. I looked in the mirror and a pale version of myself stared back at me. I looked horrible all over except for my eyes. They looked the same. They weren’t puffed up at all, not one tear had left them and streamed down my face. What’s wrong with me? I thought as I washed my face and got dressed.

As I walked down the stairs I looked at the pictures that lined the staircase. My aunt, Laura, was a photographer and loved photography more than anything else in the world. As she loved to put it, “My camera is my husband, my best friend and my child.” Her favorite pictures to take were of Grammy, my mother and me. She said it captured a genuine happiness that couldn’t be found anywhere else in the world and she was right. Each of our smiles reached from ear to ear. My favorite was from my first day of school in fourth grade. In the picture Grammy is putting up my hair in the cutest French braids. My mother is trying to get me to eat my breakfast and I’m facing the camera with my hands sticking out towards the camera trying to show off my newly painted fingernails. We all look truly happy, as if this was the greatest day of our lives.

            The photos line the staircase in chronological order, the one at the top of the stairs being the first photo of us three that my aunt took. I’m about two months old, wrapped in the blue blanket in my mother’s arms with Grammy by her side. This was taken when Grammy had just moved in with us. My grandfather had died just two years earlier from leukemia and my grandmother was glad to no longer be living by herself. My mother was also incredibly grateful for the extra hands. I never knew my father, and I’m pretty sure my mother didn’t know him very well either. They’d only been dating three months before she got pregnant with me. Because they were so young, he got scared and left her with nothing more than a simple good-bye note.

Downstairs my mom was trying her best to keep herself busy so she wouldn’t have to face the truth either. Grammy was her mom. The two of them raised me together, since I had no father to look after me. My mom stopped for one second to refill her cup of coffee. She looked at me and tried to let out a little smile, but failed completely. Her eyes were puffy and red. See, she can cry, why can’t I? My mom offered me a cup of coffee as well but I refused. Her coffee was nowhere near as good as Grammy’s.

The doorbell rang. I could see Marianne through the kitchen window. She was my mom’s best friend. She had called earlier to say she was coming over to make us some breakfast and then drive us over to the funeral. I was not in the mood for food. Especially not the gourmet food Marianne made. I made my way to the living room. I sat down on the couch and stared aimlessly at the black screen of the TV. I didn’t take the effort to turn it on knowing that I probably wouldn’t find anything I wanted to watch anyway. 

An hour passed before Marianne came into the living room and told me it was time to go. I quietly followed her into the kitchen. My mom was still sitting at the table in front of her barely eaten food. She wasn’t in the mood for pouched eggs either. Silently we all filed out of the house, got into the car and went on our way.

I looked out my window as we drove to the cemetery. On the way, we drove by our favorite ice cream parlor. Grammy always ordered the Coffee Hazelnut with hot fudge on top, mom usually couldn’t choose between the different chocolate flavors and I always got something different. Whenever we would walk in, whoever was behind the counter would scoop up the Coffee Hazelnut before I even had a chance to look at any of the flavors. It was the same everywhere we went. Grammy had her favorites and only ordered those wherever we went places. The waiters never had to ask her what she was ordering –they all already knew.

            Further down the road there was a playground. Grammy used to take me there after school while my mom was still working. I hadn’t been there in a couple years. I noticed they replaced the old wooden play structure with a new rainbow plastic one. Why is everything changing?

            After another ten minutes of looking out the window and listening to Marianne try to comfort my mom, we pulled into the cemetery parking lot. Marianne parked the car and got out but it takes my mother and I another minute. My mom pulled down the mirror in front of her and looked at herself.

“I look awful, don’t I?” She said turning to me. I didn’t respond, I just kept looking out the window at all the people getting out of their cars. Marianne walked over to my mom’s door and opens it.

“I’m sorry, but you guys are going to have to come out of the car at some point.”

            “Okay,” My mom sighed.

            “Here goes nothing,” I said as I open the door and step out.  The first person I saw was my aunt. She was standing next to a guy who looked sort of familiar. His arm was around her shoulder. He seemed to be holding her tight. When she saw us she instantly ran to my mother and gave her a huge hug, holding her tight for at least a minute. Even though she was four years older than my mother, my mother always thought of her as her little sister. Both of them were sobbing heavily into each others shoulders. I looked around. I don’t recognize anyone around us. I decided to try and sneak back into the car to get away from it all. As I turned around and headed for the car, Marianne appeared out of nowhere, “Come on Christine, Let’s go talk to Uncle Jim.”

            Uncle Jim wasn’t really my uncle. He used to be my neighbor until four years ago when he moved away to Chicago for business. He was very fond of Grammy and they would talk in the living room constantly exchanging stories. He was older than mom, but younger than Grammy. I remember sitting on his lap when I was younger listening to his stories. Every time he came over he would bring me a plate of his delicious chocolate chip cookies. He said he only baked them for special people like me. Even though I know he really liked Grammy, I was still surprised to see him here.       

            He saw me walk over and the expression on his face changed. “Wow, you’ve grown up,” he said as I got closer, “How long has it been?”

            “Four years I think,” I said.

            “Way too long,” he said giving me a tight squeeze, “I’m sorry about your grandmother,” he whispered into my ear. I didn’t say anything as he released me. He looked at me again and said, “I don’t know how she left such a pretty lady behind.”

            I know a line like that was supposed to trigger tears, but nothing came. I just stared at him, hopeless. I didn’t know what to say back. Thank you seemed inappropriate for the time. I just nodded and turned back around to look for my mother. I could see her talking to more people I didn’t know. She was still crying. My aunt went back to the man she was standing next to earlier. I walked up to her and gave her a hug.

            “Remember Jake?” She asked me turning to the guy next to her, “He used to come over and play with you when you were younger.”

            “Maybe,” I said looking at her and then him. He gave me this half smile. My aunt used to bring a lot of guys over when I was younger. Some of them were boyfriends and others were best friends. He was probably one of the best friends, I thought to myself.

My aunt was looking around the parking lot to see who else she could talk to. This started to feel more like a social gathering than a funeral. This was why I didn’t want to come in the first place.  My aunt walked away towards a crowd of my grandmother’s friends. I watched them for a bit and then looked back at Uncle Jim. He was now talking to my mother and they were both crying. I started walking into the cemetery. The other people thought this was their cue and they started following me towards the open grave.

The funeral itself was depressing. The priest said a few words and a couple close friends said a few words. My mother was able to stop crying long enough to talk about how close Grammy had been to our family and how she helped us through a lot of tough times. When it was my aunt’s turn to speak she just stood there crying, unable to open her mouth. Jack or Jake came to comfort her and walk her back to the crowd of people watching. They thought I was too young to give a speech at a funeral and I was glad. I was a horrible public speaker and I wouldn’t know how to handle a crying audience. When we thought everyone was done speaking, Uncle Jim came up and said he’d like to say something. He stood up and told everyone the first story Grammy ever told him. It was about me.  She had just come home from her first long trip with her friends and I wouldn’t leave her side, afraid she would leave again. I was too young to walk but that didn’t stop me. Whenever she put me down and walked away I would crawl after her quickly, trying not to let the distance between us increase at all. He talked about how he always admired our relationship and how she helped raise an amazing girl. When he was done I felt a warm tear drip down my face. And then another. And another. Before I knew it, I looked exactly like my mother. Finally, I thought. My mother put her arm around and held me close.

            “Look at them,” my aunt said to Jake. And before I knew it there was a big flash. Shocked we looked over at her. Leave it to my aunt to take out her camera at a funeral.  My mother just glared at her and my aunt put the camera back in the case. She looked at my mother as if she’d done nothing out of the ordinary.

            I didn’t mind though. For the first time today, I looked exactly like everyone else.