Due to a lack of better judgment on my part, I have spent
the last 48 hours unable to move off of my couch. The wife and I spent a very long day tackling
a 33 kilometer hike in and out of the Dordogne River valley. Not having properly prepared for such a feat
. . . er . . . feet, I find the very thought of placing shoes upon my aching
feet absolute fools game. The relatively
guilt free hiatus from my usual domestic musings has left me some extra time to
collect my thoughts and finish a handful of posts that have been in varying
stages of incubation for the better part of a week now. Yet, today, none of these seem more important
to me than saying the following words:
Good Bye. News came in early
this morning that my grandmother passed away at 9:45 central standard time
yesterday evening. And so I ask myself,
how is one supposed to feel when a loved one has passed and you live so far
from home? Should I feel sorrow,
remorse, anger or regret? Should I spend
the day grieving and shedding heartfelt tears of sadness and woe? If I did so, would this be an apt tribute to
the woman who gave my father life? Would
it do her justice for me to suddenly feel sorry for myself because I am now
unable to make up for lost time? I
believe the answer to be a resounding NO.
You see, my grandmother and I have not been terribly close throughout my
adult life and for this perhaps we are both to blame. It was, after all, her indirect influence on
my life that has given me this hard fought lack of mournful sentimentality. And though this may sound odd, I believe it
is the best gift she has ever given me.
Through my father she taught me not to feel sorry for myself and to be
stubbornly independent regardless of the hardship faced. To this end, I have committed myself not to
feel bad for my loss because to do so would be self-serving and not what she
has taught. Instead I choose to celebrate
her life and that part of it I shared with her, brief though it may have
been. This in my mind is the better part
of grief . . . “Good grief” if you will.
My Grandmother
For as long as I can
remember
my grandmother was a
real bad ass
She drank beer from a
straw on Sundays
sometimes in a Flash
Gordon glass.
She preferred that I
smoke cigarettes
than chew bubble gum
in her midst
Interrupt her Austin
City Limits
and surely she’d be
pissed
Whenever we would
visit
I knew just where she’d
be found
Perched atop an old
porch swing
sipping brew without
a sound
If ever the swing was
empty
you need only follow
your nose
In a kitchen seasoned
with bacon fat
is where she watched
her shows
Beneath her tough
exterior
beat a warm and
gentle heart
Before I went outside
to play
Chapstick would play
its part
She never missed my
birthday
Her gift was well
prepared
5 Dollars in a
greeting card
And a note to say she
cared
I never called her by
a pet name
and she simply called
me Ry
Be my hair too long
or short
it never missed her
eye
And now I bid
farewell
to this lady that I
love
Know I’m trying to do
you proud
as you watch us from
above
Ry
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