My Heart

Today, on Mother's Day, my husband and I visit the home of my dear Grandmother, though she no longer resides there. While he takes apart the bed I wander around the backyard and I swear to you I remember my 1st birthday, which was celebrated under the shade of this tree, where I received a big, pink bouncy ball with a bow on it. I approach the dried up garden where we used to keep our eyes peeled for "Sammy the Snake", and I turn to the posts, in the shape of a cross, which used to hold taut the rope of the clothesline. I remember the smell of the fresh, wet laundry mixed with damp wooden clothespins and fresh summer breeze. She is almost, so nearly here with me now. I can feel her silky housecoat under my hug. Baby blue, her favorite color. I am moving back into the house, drawn to her bedroom. Here her essence has gathered. At the bureau and mirror I lift a jewelry box and underneath find careful instructions about the house along with other vital information about family members, finances, and who to call for what. To the right is a perfume bottle. I lift the cap, inhale, and start to weep quietly so as not to be heard. I sit on the bed and remember too many things at once to know exactly what is remembered. That scent, it was there during everything important. How I miss my grandmother! She still wakes and breathes the air of the earth, but she is removed from us now. We visit, but she put down the pen with which to write her story months ago. Still, every day is an opportunity to tell her how much I love her. Not just love, but adore her. Just urgently love, adore, and miss her. I am hopeless to describe it to you.