Ugh. Grandmother.
It just tastes wrong in my mouth
she was Mimi
a nickname given to her
by her first and only granddaughter
Our Mimi
A slender, practical woman
elegant well into her golden years
but not without the trappings
of her rugged mountain upbringing
It showed up in little ways
but to me the most telling was in her language,
certain unsavory words that she would let slip:
a Damn
or an asshole
and even the rare albino bitch
she always followed these utterances with the footnote:
grandmothers don’t talk that way
but mine did
and that was cool as hell
For four years, while I was in college
she opened up her home to me
with homemade Sunday dinners
at the time elders typically have it: 4 pm.
We would sit and talk
she would listen to my flights of fancy
the fevers of collegiate teachings
And I would listen to her stories
of a life long lived,
and about the friends she was losing
year by year
It was a strange confluence
myself at the sunrise of my adulthood
and her at the sunset of her own
The summer before my senior year
I got sick, head-sick
and Mimi was the one that drove me to the hospital
and after that hell
when the world was crumbling around me
she gave me a place to stay and heal
And in reflecting on all this
I realized that
She had a heart so big and so full
that the primary artery to it
ruptured twice
So thank you Mimi
for all the gifts of that big ol’ heart of yours
You are sorely. sorely missed
(I read this at her memorial today. It was lovely)