When my friend Matthew heard about my Granny’s death and how I was there with her in the end, he wrote me a note that said,
“If, when I die, it is with my grandchild holding my hand, stroking my hair and singing to me, I think that I will have had the best death possible.”
Though I knew what he meant, I couldn’t see it that way at the time.
Nothing about it felt like a good death.
I wasn't at all prepared to stand by her side.
She was stolen from me, too soon.
Oh come ye back
My own true love
And stay a while with me
If I had a friend
All on this earth
You’ve been a friend to me
-- Mary Chapin Carpenter
Today, because he loves it, I cut cantaloupe for The Mayor’s lunch.
This one was ripe and sweet, just right.
Sneaking a piece from his lunch plate, I was immediately reminded of my grandparents.
Though tobacco is the primary crop in the area, cantaloupe also grows in abundance on the farms near my Granny and Ady’s house.
The taste of it reminds me of summers at their house.
I smiled thinking of them both and, in particular, of my Granny.
I still miss her.
Though lately I have come to understand that the act of standing beside her in death was a gift, both from me to her as well as from her to me.
and every day you gaze upon the sunset
with such love and intensity
it's almost...it's almost as if
if you could only crack the code
then you'd finally understand what this all means
but if you could...do you think you would
trade in all the pain and suffering?
ah, but then you'd miss
the beauty of the light upon this earth
and the sweetness of the leaving