06 April 2015

Easter Monday

Daphne Flowers
I took a picture of one of the daphne bushes over in of the public parks because my grandparents have a daphne bush in their yard. I've always loved the heady scent of the flowers, and remember my grandmother letting me squish some of the blossoms up in a cup with water in an attempt to make perfume (no, it didn't work).

We made it through Holy Week and Easter Sunday. The week has a more bittersweet twinge for me than it usually does. I managed to complete my Lenten task. This year I chose to get the book out during Lent rather than giving something up (though the task of sending it out into the world where people can read and critique it has an element of letting go). But my mind was less on my life than on my grandmother's this Lenten season.

I wasn't sure if I would write much about the grieving process here on the blog, but it has occurred to me that, as a representation of grief, mine doesn't look like I expected it would. The deep sadness passed after the first week, for the moment, and for now, I am reconciled. But I do find myself frequently dwelling on my grandmother, on who she was, who I knew her to be, and how she affected the people around her. The memorial service is this weekend, and I will be faced, for the first real time, with her absence. I feel it when I talk with my grandfather, on the phone or on skype, but it's still not entirely real.

Bleeding Heart
This evening, I spent some time working on a dress for my daughter to wear to the service on Saturday. I think Grandma would have liked that. She loved that at least one of her granddaughters had continued to sew after she spent all the time teaching us when we were kids. It seems fitting to sew something for E. for this occasion.

In the spirit of thinking about what my grandmother would have appreciated, I found myself buying makeup to wear, and deliberating about the sort of nail polish I should use (not black, I think). I've been a nail biter most of my life, and my mother tried to use the promise of nail polish as a bribe to get me to stop. Grandma just went ahead and did my nails - irritating my mother but delighting me.

Memories like that are both joyful and tinged with sorrow right now. It's a strange feeling. I don't know if they will always feel like this, or if the feelings will someday be all joy. I think I will always miss her, though, so I don't think the sadness is going to leave anytime soon.

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