GOODBYE MY LOVES: A sequel to Grandmother and Christmas
It seemed as if my times living with the Grans were destined to be short lived. Again at the end of one year and some months, we were scheduled to move into a place of our own. Mother had given birth to a sibling brother and now the big house, plus the additional caring of the Grans were too much for her. So another aunt and her family were moving into my big frame house.
It was a sad time for me, yet the anticipation of moving to a quaint little apartment with my family held some excitement.
Mom and Dad had chosen a duplex apartment with front and side yards teeming with bushes of wild red and yellow roses that grew above the height of the white picket fence. This was to be my family's home for nearly three decades. Our house was only a couple of blocks away from Grandmère's and I visited as often as I could.
During my mid teens when Grandmère was bedridden and slowly drifting into a second childhood, I spent many hours at her bedside. Sometimes I would curl up beside her on the bed to be near her again the way we used to be when, during grade school years, I would drop by and we would snuggle on the sofa to talk. Only now I found that Grandmère sometimes spoke to her dead daughter during our conversations. When she was more lucid her only hope was to die and to be with a daughter she had lost decades before. My reaction then was one of astonishment at another human being wanting to die, and I would desperately try to get her to change her mind. Somehow I feared that her death wish would bring that final separation sooner than God intended.
It was during one of those close moments that Grandmère told me one day, "You will not cry when I have gone to the other side, for I shall comfort you." She was trying, in her way, to tell me how free she would feel once her spirit had escaped from her diseased body. She could not walk, could not sit. Her only movements came from involuntary spasms in her hand and thumb that would shake vigorously during her waking hours.
The deep courage she displayed in accepting her earthly trials as quietly as a martyr did not escape me then, for I remember it now and only now do I fully appreciate it for what it was. It was a thorough acceptance of her life as it was, knowing she or medical science could do nothing to alleviate her situation. The only way out for her was death. She awaited death as a kicking foetus awaits birth.
As Grandmère grew weaker, so did Grandpère and his occasional bouts of senility grew into a life of almost constant younghood that was once his own. He was not to be trusted anymore, this old man who walked through life with canes. There were however, moments of reality shared by both Grans. It was by accident that I came upon them one winter day. I had just arrived at Aunt's house, and I rushed upstairs to see Grandmère. Just as I turned the corner of the hallway, I heard soft voices coming from Grandmère's bedroom. Not wanting to intrude, I peeked in to see whose voices they were. Grandmère was propped up in bed as usual. Sitting beside the bed on a chair was Grandpère. They were holding hands as tenderly as two young lovers. Tears misting their eyes, they were murmuring their own secrets, wishes or forgiveness. I could not know what they were saying. I did not want to know. This, to my knowledge, was their last intimate moment together. I sheepishly turned away, and retreated down the stairs as quietly as I could.
Springtime brought thousands of rose buds to our garden when Grandpère was hospitalized. He did not linger in physical ailment. At the end of May he died of pneumonia. Grandmère did not take the news well and she began another descent into weakness and physical stillness. Two months later, one month before my 17th birthday, my "old love" joined her partner in a better world. I did not weep very long for her then. True to her word, she comforted me in my hour of need. I know it now.
Years have passed and I think of her often. I thank God for having sent this soul into the arms of such a loving family, one with a Grandmère so loving as my "old love".
This story was donated for posting by Denise Morin.
Denise's Bio: I am a poet and writer of children's stories, having written three major ones with one series included, but not finished (for a series can go on and on). I am rather universal in my spiritual beliefs. I study and teach meditation, visualization and philosophies from different religious / belief arenas. I believe that soul growth occurs with knowledge and acceptance of others in this universe.
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