Grandmother
2005 07 24 | journal
My grandmother's going to be 78 this Friday. This blows my noodle in ways I don't think I can readily describe.
She raised me, she's my ma, so I think I see her in a fairly young light. I see her how most children see their parents - in some way indestructable. I forget that she's old. I forget that she's gone past the middle and is now much closer to the end than the beginning. I forget that she hasn't got all the time in the world left, and that I haven't got much more time in which to make reparation for anything I've ever done wrong.
I remember one of the first times I realised she was old. I was standing near her looking at something she was knitting, and I realised how white her hair was, and how veined her hands were.
Someday, perhaps someday quite soon, she's not going to be there, and I really don't know what I'm going to do about it, nor how I'll feel. I suppose I'll feel like a thread's been cut - a thread that tied me to something that I will then have no more way of connecting with. And as much as she drives me around the twist, I will miss her, terribly.