in the hallway near the bathroom where we would sometimes meet.
me with my pink hair and nose rings. she would laugh sometimes, with her proper British laugh,
and say she was so glad she wasn't a modern girl. couldn't believe we would wear our underthings on the outside. my favorite thrift store slip giving her a kick in the pants.
i wonder if the smell of her perfume means that she is coming for my mom.
i wonder if she will come in her satin pajamas.
her back bent from age and bad posture.
her white puff of hair and tea stained teeth.
before she died you could say 'how you doing, grandma?'
and she would say
'i'm still breathing in and out' in her stubborn British lilt.
and she will come for my mom. i hope she does, with that talcum powder perfume wafting around the room. i'm remembering that she passed away in this house. smiling, talking to people we couldn't see. she was old, and she was just done. so glad to be going home.
and i see now that my mom needs midwives. that i will have to be one. my sisters too. that i will have to help her in to death the way she helped so many babies - even mine - into life. and that maybe my dad's mom will have to come from the other side. and that my mom's mom, my middle namesake, may have to come too. when my mom talks about dying she says she wants to go see her mama. and a part of me dies a little bit to hear her say it. i think her mama will smell like cigarette smoke and bourbon, as southern a woman as my dad's mom was a brit.
i am going to miss her forever. and i am already missing her now. she with her fucking unflappable faith. she with her maddening ability to pretend everything was always okay.
and so i ask my grandma to help, to bring that perfume back here. and the one i never met, the whiskey and cigarette one, who died when my mom is the age i am now, to please get her southern self here. maybe light the way with her burning embers. if there is a heaven, my mom is going.
it's just that her hands don't work anymore, and she needs someone to call the cab.
my mama with her ash wednesday cross. jesus loves her.
oh, kari. love and tears...<3
ReplyDeleteKari, love. So beautiful. What a legacy, these women, in your blood. (And for the record, I think everyone's hands work amazingly now, midwifing all sorts of magic from that gauzy other place.) Thinking of you.
ReplyDeleteSo beautifully written, Kari. This will always be a treasured read each Ash Wednesday.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Kari. Beautiful.
ReplyDeleteWe got ashes on our heads last night. Kids were a little proud and a little embarrassed to be walking around with it. I think grandma and mom took strength from the practice of these these rituals. I was thinking back to how grandpa E tried to become a Catholic after seeing grandma's strength in their toughest times. In the end he couldn't follow through; it just wasn't him. But I admire that he saw grandma's uncanny strength and tried to get to the bottom of it.
Its a touching piece of writing. Thank you Kari for your candid sincerity. I am thankful your mom had such great support when she needed you all. So thankful she welcomed my youngest Victor into the world, on a Good Friday.
ReplyDeletekari,
ReplyDeleteI'm not sure what to make of this....but it's beautiful. I miss Mom everyday - but I miss her most for your girls who won't know her. I remember Grandma Givens - the smoke and bourbon are still present in my memory- you are so right...I think Mom wanted to leave a better impression on the world without judging her mom- but I know how much she loved her and how much she wanted to see her again. I remember the day she came into Peggy's room and saw her mom over her- just after she returned from her funeral. I think her mom was saying she would be always be there for her...so hopefully she was there when Mom needed a hand after she died.
I'm sure Grandma E was there...with a cup of tea and also a little disappointed she didn't bring a bottle of wine.
It's all so surreal..I expect to wake up some days and call Mom to say hello.
Love you,
Ken
Five years on, this is a beautiful read. Thank you, Kari. Love, Pete
ReplyDelete