Life intervened, got complicated, and generally screwed up my blogging. In fact, I'm not even going to write a full entry today.
In November, my grandmother (Junie, who was my mother's step-mother) was in a terrible car accident. She was in a coma for a few weeks, but never regained true consciousness (though I believe that some part of her was aware of the people who grieved around her, aware of our love for her). On December 5, she passed away.
I'm feeling lost in my writing right now, so I think I'll just leave this entry as it is, and let my mom do the rest of the talking.
This is her eulogy, which is beautifully written, and was well-delivered, though I know it was hard for her to get through.
I don't know if everyone does this, but I remember things as photographs in my mind. I see pictures of things and events--things that were never actually photographed and yet they form a life's album in my memory.
I can see clearly the first few moments I ever spent with Junie. I was eight years old and she wasn't even quite to her mid 20's. I can see us sitting on a sofa together. She was so pretty and my dad was so happy.
Two years later I can see her introducing me to the cutest baby boy ever, my little brother. She said something like, "I'm so glad I have a boy and a girl now." She always knew the right thing to say to make me feel loved.
Every summer I was allowed one day to be a guest, while the rest of the three months I was one of the family. At the time I always thought being the guest that first day was very cool, but now I know that being part of the family was the greatest gift of all. When I was in Pennsylvania, Junie was my mom. I never questioned that. We got along famously from the minute we met.
There are "photos" of us sitting on the floor watching the Stay-Later movie playing the most hilarious games of Canasta while Daddy and Michael were tucked away in bed. Clear memories of how she took care of me when my attempts to teach the neighborhood girls to golf resulted in a gash to my eyebrow and when an overzealous German Shepherd bit me on the cheek.
I picture the day she taught me how to make hospital corners when making a bed, the correct way to paint a wall, how to make her famous hamballs, and how to keep my head down because you can never look up early and see a good shot in golf.
My mind's album is filled to overflowing with loving snapshots of life with Junie. Holding her first granddaughter, coming to Colorado to see the other in her senior musical. Laughing, smiling, loving photos locked forever in my heart. Most recently I can see her telling everyone about her daughter moving back to Erie. And that when people would say they never knew she had a daughter she'd tell them, "She's Dick's daughter but she's always been my daughter, too."
When I became a parent I came to realize that there is no one on Earth that I love the way I love my children. No one loves you like your mom and dad. I'll miss having someone feel that way about me. Junie always did.
I know that most of you here have your own little photo album of Junie. I know you will miss her as much as I will.
I guess the one thing I can't picture is our lives without her.
