This past weekend I was supposed to head for the hills of Vermont with a trio of hipsters. Hipster #1, being my friend, Jake or Mr. Please Please as he has called himself in the past. Mr. Please is to be married in a few weeks time. It certainly would have been fun to spend some time yucking it up with him before he becomes yet another one of my friends who gets themselves in the married way and I never seem to see. We hardly see each other as it is these days due to our hectic schedules. When he offered me the chance to tag along for a trip to Brattleboro to visit an old college friend, I jumped at the opportunity. Packed up outfits perfect for cavorting on nature trails and strolling the quaint downtown district. Loaded the disc changer with Ambulance Ltd, Nick Drake, Elvis Costello, James Brown, and Ben Kweller. Hustled the hounds from hell, Quentin and Maggie, off to the dog hotel. Prepared for a clean getaway from the office.
And then the phone rang. My Grams was being rushed to the hospital. I jumped in the car, headed in the direction opposite Vermont on the compass and toward the epicenter of my family. My sister and mother and I huddled around her in the emergency room until 2 am. Seven hours after her arrival, she was admitted to the ICU. Diagnosis: heart attack. Legally blind and survivor of two strokes, she's a testment to tenacity. Fiesty and funny, holding court wrapped in a bathrobe covering multiple IVs, she's more concerned with what's on the menu for tomorrow than the severity of the situation.
Right now, my main focus is her. I comb her hair. I listen to her stories about long dead relatives who I can't keep track of how we're all related. She tells me about the one that died of consumption, the brother and sister that were mutes, her clarivoyant grandmother. Mostly she talks about my grandfather and how she spent "51 good years with him" in which he spoiled her and never said, no. She tells me when the time comes she wants their ashes to be thrown out to sea since he spent most of his time crossing oceans as a Coast Guard and merchant marine.
I want to tell her she's taught me everything I know about generosity, unconditional love and how to flirt. She's instilled in me a love for big bands, old movies, and potato chips with sour cream dip. I could tell her that it's her that keeps me here in my hometown, unwilling to move away from her blue eyes that still flash mischieviously just as good as ever even though they don't see too good anymore. But that would be too heavy for her. Instead, I tease her, calling her Trixie and Graham Cracker, my favorite pet names for her. Making sure to kiss her smooth cheek when I arrive and leave, stating loudly I love you. Because I do.
And then the phone rang. My Grams was being rushed to the hospital. I jumped in the car, headed in the direction opposite Vermont on the compass and toward the epicenter of my family. My sister and mother and I huddled around her in the emergency room until 2 am. Seven hours after her arrival, she was admitted to the ICU. Diagnosis: heart attack. Legally blind and survivor of two strokes, she's a testment to tenacity. Fiesty and funny, holding court wrapped in a bathrobe covering multiple IVs, she's more concerned with what's on the menu for tomorrow than the severity of the situation.
Right now, my main focus is her. I comb her hair. I listen to her stories about long dead relatives who I can't keep track of how we're all related. She tells me about the one that died of consumption, the brother and sister that were mutes, her clarivoyant grandmother. Mostly she talks about my grandfather and how she spent "51 good years with him" in which he spoiled her and never said, no. She tells me when the time comes she wants their ashes to be thrown out to sea since he spent most of his time crossing oceans as a Coast Guard and merchant marine.
I want to tell her she's taught me everything I know about generosity, unconditional love and how to flirt. She's instilled in me a love for big bands, old movies, and potato chips with sour cream dip. I could tell her that it's her that keeps me here in my hometown, unwilling to move away from her blue eyes that still flash mischieviously just as good as ever even though they don't see too good anymore. But that would be too heavy for her. Instead, I tease her, calling her Trixie and Graham Cracker, my favorite pet names for her. Making sure to kiss her smooth cheek when I arrive and leave, stating loudly I love you. Because I do.
posted by Rachel at 9/14/2004 01:47:00 AM
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