Midnight Palace
Vendor
- Messages
- 640
- Location
- Hollywood, CA
On Monday, August 13th, I lost my great-grandmother Emily one day short of her 90th birthday. She'd been healthy for most of her life but the last couple of months brought a rapid chain reaction of problems. I don't really believe the loss has fully hit me yet, but I wanted to write something for her....
You'd been a daughter, a wife, a mother, a friend, a sister and a grandmother before we first met. When I showed up in the last part of the bell-bottomed 1970s, you were a young 61 with the vibrancy of a teenager. I was trying to get used to this blue marble and I'm sure I babbled incoherently at times - but somehow I knew you understood.
I wasn't old enough to comprehend the times you came from. You'd survived the stock market crash, the great depression and world war II by the time you were in your 20s. Your family was able to maintain then and afterwards. Now that I'm old enough to appreciate it, I'd like you to know how proud I am to be part of your family.
Through my adolescence, your home was my sanctum. You and Poppy were a second set of parents to me, and I owe a lot of my growth to that unselfishness. I never forgot one breakfast, lunch or dinner you made for me, nor how you never complained about doing it when I know you must've been tired at times. There was a comfort in that house that I can't find the words to describe. It was a presence in itself, but even if the structure had burned to the ground, I would've felt the joys of home under your watchful eyes.
During my teen years, high school's bells divided my life into 45 minute sections. At the end of those days, I would stop in to find you sitting in your usual spot at the kitchen table - watching soap operas. I knew the ambiance of the actors' voices; I'd grown up with them in the background. It was one more reassurance that I was in Poppy and Grandmom's house. As far as I was concerned, nothing could break those walls. I knew I was always welcome, unconditionally.
Poppy left us a few days before I turned 17. There was a devestating void that lingered for months, but I knew we had you. You were the other half of the family's backbone. You kept us up straight even though you'd spend your 57th wedding anniversary with memories.
I went through my 20s the way most do, trying to grow mentally while time aged you physically. Your personality never aged though, you still loved a good dance and hitting on the waiters at someone else's wedding. You never missed an opportunity to capture everyone's attention. I just wish I could pay you more of mine.
There is no ending road where you are, but down here we feel the separation. I know the colors are beautiful there, and if given the opportunity, you'd never want to return to your earthly life. I wouldn't ask you to. Just as I sit in life's waiting room until I'm called, you waited years to see those who'd left you behind. Now you can. You're with Poppy, your parents, brothers, sisters and friends, enjoying the parties of forever. I'll be here remembering until I'm there to join in. In the meantime, you'd better grab Poppy and find a seat. The ragtime band is waiting to play...
You'd been a daughter, a wife, a mother, a friend, a sister and a grandmother before we first met. When I showed up in the last part of the bell-bottomed 1970s, you were a young 61 with the vibrancy of a teenager. I was trying to get used to this blue marble and I'm sure I babbled incoherently at times - but somehow I knew you understood.
I wasn't old enough to comprehend the times you came from. You'd survived the stock market crash, the great depression and world war II by the time you were in your 20s. Your family was able to maintain then and afterwards. Now that I'm old enough to appreciate it, I'd like you to know how proud I am to be part of your family.
Through my adolescence, your home was my sanctum. You and Poppy were a second set of parents to me, and I owe a lot of my growth to that unselfishness. I never forgot one breakfast, lunch or dinner you made for me, nor how you never complained about doing it when I know you must've been tired at times. There was a comfort in that house that I can't find the words to describe. It was a presence in itself, but even if the structure had burned to the ground, I would've felt the joys of home under your watchful eyes.
During my teen years, high school's bells divided my life into 45 minute sections. At the end of those days, I would stop in to find you sitting in your usual spot at the kitchen table - watching soap operas. I knew the ambiance of the actors' voices; I'd grown up with them in the background. It was one more reassurance that I was in Poppy and Grandmom's house. As far as I was concerned, nothing could break those walls. I knew I was always welcome, unconditionally.
Poppy left us a few days before I turned 17. There was a devestating void that lingered for months, but I knew we had you. You were the other half of the family's backbone. You kept us up straight even though you'd spend your 57th wedding anniversary with memories.
I went through my 20s the way most do, trying to grow mentally while time aged you physically. Your personality never aged though, you still loved a good dance and hitting on the waiters at someone else's wedding. You never missed an opportunity to capture everyone's attention. I just wish I could pay you more of mine.
There is no ending road where you are, but down here we feel the separation. I know the colors are beautiful there, and if given the opportunity, you'd never want to return to your earthly life. I wouldn't ask you to. Just as I sit in life's waiting room until I'm called, you waited years to see those who'd left you behind. Now you can. You're with Poppy, your parents, brothers, sisters and friends, enjoying the parties of forever. I'll be here remembering until I'm there to join in. In the meantime, you'd better grab Poppy and find a seat. The ragtime band is waiting to play...
