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Grandmother

Farwell

By Chantae HardingPublished 2 years ago 3 min read
A Carol Harding Original

To my grandmother who is gone,

When I look back on the last few years with you gone, without you in the world, I am sad because I will not see you again, sad because of all the things I will never get to say to you. About the stories I can never ask you to tell me. When I heard about the cancer I was numb and raw. I didn’t know what it would mean. I was scared because I didn’t know what living in a world without you would entail. I can be honest and say it’s not as nice without you in it.

When Dad told me I tried to be positive. So did he. Typical Dad: he didn’t want me to worry. But I think somewhere deep down I knew. I should have told you then all the things I had put off. That some of my best childhood memories were with you, playing Donkey Kong Country, Mario Kart, and Super Mario World. That I aspired to know every secret on every level like you did. Or how much your unwavering love and support meant when I came out.

After you were gone, I was talking to Auntie about the two Michael Parkes pieces you had, seeing if anyone wanted them. You know the ones. The one that hung above your couch my entire life and its sister that was in the basement awaiting a frame to fit it. Before I could take them, she made me promise to keep them always. She told me that when they were all children you never spent any money on yourself. These two pieces were the only thing you ever indulged in.

I think about all the times that I would just swing by your place and how you would let me sit and talk to you for hours. I would tell you about work, my relationships, and every little thing in my life. I am ashamed that I never asked you more about yourself. I am terrified to confess, but I don’t know if I ever really knew you, who you really were. I know now that you were an artist, one of the best I have seen. I know that you were a strong mother who did what she needed to do for her kids. I know that you owned a horse and you used to ride him to school.

But the things that I will never know from you is who was your first love? Did you like school? Why did you never pursue your art? In the end, did you feel the same way you did on the night we talked about all the possible ways the world could end? The night you cried telling me you were the only one left from your family. The night you told me that you didn’t want to die slowly and that if everything came to an end, you would want to come to an end, too. I want to ask you why you fought so hard. Did you do it just for us? But most importantly, why did you always seem so beyond my reach yet right beside me?

I should have been there more for you in the end. But even when things got bad, I thought you would make it through somehow. I know that I can never get the time back. Like you, it’s gone from this place, this time, this plane. But I hope that if ever we do get to meet again, you will forgive me for all the things I never knew.

Missing you forever,

Your Granddaughter.

Family

About the Creator

Chantae Harding

Time to be honest and cut the crap. I love to write! I always have. I lost that for a while. I am here to grow, learn, and experience my own writing process. If you don't like my writing that's ok. I'm still learning.

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    Chantae HardingWritten by Chantae Harding

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