We put my grandmother in the ground today. Memom is what I called her. It was a sweet little ceremony, but I wish I’d done it alone.
I don’t know why I’m so private about emotions, but so feel like I’m cheating my Memom out of a really good conversation when I’m forced to be around people.
I wanted to sit next to the grave, leant head on her tombstone and tell her stories, like so used to. I used to write her long emails about my life and send her my ideas and stories; she would write me back and tell me what she thought about everything I’d said – sent from her iPad. I wanted to finish the New York Times Sunday crossword from yesterday and let her help me, and challenge her to a words with friends match. Pass ‘n’ play.
She died on December 29, 2013. Her funeral was January 2, 2014. That was eight months ago. I think about her every day, and I thought I was finally coming out the other side from the grief and guilt of losing her, and then we had this ceremony and I feel like it has all opened back up again.
It was sweet, though. When my cousin started a poem she brought, a dragon fly came over to smell the flowers. Zipped on over and hovered to listen to the poem.
Dragonflies were Memom’s spirit animal.
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