An Inner Voice I am Only Getting to Know Now

She is wise back there in the way, way back of my brain.

I closed my eyes today and saw my Grandmother sitting at the other end of a long table. She looked the same to me as I remember, all fleshy and human and opinionated. I loved her opinions. Even if we fought often about them and I mostly never agreed, I still loved them because she spoke them to this crowd of one with gumption and brazen truth. I wanted to speak like that, too.

She used to do this thing with her eyes where she scrunched them both together and smiled. I realize now that every one of my children has done the exact same facial expression when they were telling me ‘watch me wink, mom!’. And of course, now I wonder if my Gram could really wink or if that was in fact her attempt at winking. And my heart melts everywhere like butter thinking about that.

Within her attempted wink across from the table today, I saw little sun bursts pour out of her eyes. And there I was, caught in her sun rays and I felt warm. I always did when I was with her and I still can almost remember every freckle on her face and hands and forearms, how her wedding ring fit so snug on her left ring finger and the way she would lick a spoon after she was done stirring.

One of the last times we spoke on the phone, this was the second to last-ish time before she knew she was dying (she knew but only like 88% percent knew as the last 12% held on to human form, human connection and what I can only imagine, that one more Christmas altogether we didn’t get), she said to me that she was going to try to start calling more. She was so bad at calling people - she maybe called me thrice in my life. I always had to call.

And today I wondered if she still delivers on that promise?

A healer friend of mine says she is on my front porch often here in Maine. I can imagine she likes it here as the weather is her ideal temperature and people are so kind and the community still feels like a community here. And there are so many birds, she loved watching the birds out her large windows that overlooked her backyard and lake. Sometimes they would even have a family of pelicans visit, which was so odd to me in Indiana.

I have been calling on her a lot lately as my third child fights sleep. I whisper in the dark hours, “Gram, help me out”. And then I go get Freya at 11pm, again at 1am or 2am and she is pointing to the ceiling. I thought she might be scared of bugs as we saw one in the light fixture crawling around - goodness, Maine has so many bugs - but now I wonder, is that you, Gram?

One day over dinner a while ago when we still lived in Denver and my sister would watch the kids and Chris and I would sit over pizza and more often tacos and a glass of wine, I said through tears in public, “I will never be over it”. And I was right - I am still not over my Grandmother’s passing. Even today, the sadness is heavy but not like the depressing sad of a wet weighted blanket as it once was. It is more of a sadness sitting next to me holding my hand and caressing it. And I will tell you what, the contentment that came over me when I declared I will never be over it was some kind of brick removal service from my sweet shoulders.

I can, at times, judge myself. And doubt myself. What if I am making my connection to my Gram out to be more than what it was? What if I am remembering and gripping details that don’t need to live there in my brain space anymore? What if I am embellishing it?

“Embellish on, dear one”, a voice within I am only just getting to know whisper-yells from the way, way back of my brain. And I laugh. Of course, why wouldn’t I dwell in the love, in the warmth, in the sun rays that burst from the wrinkles and crinkles of her big blue eyes? Why ever get over it?

I wonder why do we do that?

Rush the good parts. Stamp out the sadness when it caresses your hand. Make the joy smaller. Force the fade of the memory.

Why on Earth would I do that? Because I read just today from Dr. Kessler, he wrote: “But what is grief, if not love persevering?” So I will let the love persevere because in this exact moment, I don’t feel the alternative is the way I can let myself go as a Mother, wife, friend, mentor and poet … as a human.

So embellish on, dear ones.

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L A T E L Y

Reading: Circe: A Novel by Madeline Miller (on Audible) and wondered just today what a goddess with tight hamstrings and a love of books would be named?

T B R: The Vulnerables: A Novel by Sigrid Nunez

Sunday Soups: I make soups every Sunday now over ZOOM with my mother and little sister. Last weekend we made this Ginger and Turmeric Chicken soup and it was so good! Next up is a White Bean Chili!

Started but Did Not Finish: the Sylvester Stallone documentary on Netflix titled SLY. As you know, I just watched all the ROCKY movies(I wrote about it here) but the doc only held my attention for so long. Sorry Sly.

Poetry: Emory Hall’s debut book of poetry, ‘Made of Rivers’ is wonderful. I like her.

Feeling: sad for the World. And the Earth. And staying and leaving and staying in deep inquiry of when the exact moment is that the leaves choose to fall off the trees and how they don’t just fall, they twirl mid-air down to the Earth’s floor and how my dog smiles when we come back home and I can almost hear him sigh to himself, ‘all is well again’ and the tiny-ness of the pinky toe on my 19 month old.

Time Change: that was weird. I still don’t feel right yet.

Inspired by: my friends who are brave and artistic and disciplined enough to write a book and create book tour-ish experiences. Looking at you

Jessica Elefante

, debut author of ‘Raising Hell and Living Well: Freedom from Influence in a World Where Everyone Wants Something from You (Including Me) and you, Kimothy Joy and your newest book with butterflies on the cover, ‘Extraordinary Wing Women: True Stories of Life-Altering, World-Changing Sisterhood’.

Creating: a retreat in Maine in the Spring and another retreat in the Fall (location TBD). Let’s gather up.

Thinking about creating: A mini Vulnerability Club experience for December (all virtual add a haiku writing circle). A downloadable ‘Find Your Voice’ workbook for women that want to speak up and out. A yin yoga and beginner’s writing workshop I lead in my new town (eep!). Stay tuned.

Yearning for: an evening ritual I can commit to.

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What about you lately?
What are you reading, eating, creating, yearning for?