Hi. It's nice to see you. I hope you and Grampa are doing well. I hope you liked the spaghetti. I made it specially for you. I was too sick today to make a real dinner you could share, and I didn't want you guys to go hungry.
I'm having a bit of a hard time, Gramma. I'm so sick, and I'm scared of everything that means. I just want to get better, and I know I'm not going to. I'm petrified of getting the surgery, and how everything will change after that. I spent today screaming, when I wasn't passed out from exhaustion. I'm scared it's getting worse. Are you sure there isn't someone up there you could talk to? A miracle would be really cool right now.
I want to have my kids now. I've been good, and I've waited, and my reward seems to be having nearly everyone I wanted to meet them be dead. I wanted Grampa to meet his great-grandkids. My parents are getting old, and I'm getting old... Promise me that I will get to have my babies. Don't let the family die with me and Rob and Allan. I dream of my babies, in my arms, and when I wake up and they aren't there... take care of them for me, until I get to meet them. I know you'll look out for them.
I miss you. I wish you were here. You'd think I'd be used to it. I mean, I barely got to know you, but there it is. There's a hole in my life where you were supposed to be. I wish you were there for advice, I wish you were there for mom. She needs you, and she needs Grampa, and she's all alone now. I know you're still there, but it isn't the same. Mom gave me a trunk with some of your old clothes in it. They still smell like you. And I have a sweatshirt of Grampa's that smells like him.
It was so nice to see you at the internment. I'm sorry I don't visit, but I didn't know where you were, and I don't have a car now. I know you didn't want people to congregate around a plot of dirt and bawl, anyways, but it would just be nice to visit sometimes... Show respect, you know? When mom is done scanning everything in, I'm going to ask if I can have one of the pictures of you and Grampa, and put it on my wall, so I have somewhere I can talk to you better. Thank you for being there when I moved into the apartment. It meant a lot to me.
I hope you're proud of me. I know I haven't really accomplished anything, but I hope how hard I'm trying is worth something. I'm sure things are coming around now, and I'll have more to show for my effort.
I'm going to take ASL 101! I'm very excited. I'm also really nervous. I haven't gone to schoool in nearly a decade now, and I've wanted to do this since highschool. I'm afraid that I won't be able to pull this off, and... You understand, don't you? I could always tell myself that if I hadn't let dad convince me not to go, I could've, and the potential of it was very comforting. Having to do it... makes it real. I can't really handle losing any more dreams, due to my abject incompetence.
I'm dreaming again, gramma. I know that people don't understand when I tell them that being a mother is my dream, my goal, my career choice. It's where all my talents intersect, it's what I always wanted to be. I could potentially do other things with it, teaching, the nannying I already do, but it's all just killing time. I'm also really thinking about perhaps getting ministerial training, for later. I know that now isn't the time... you can't just walk into a community and expect to be given a leadership position or respect. But I know that that too is something I know I'm supposed to do, and I want to be prepared. I'm more prepared to wait for that. Earn a few grey hairs, build a base. And I'm seriously considering politics again. It's so frustrating to watch the stupidity of the present, and yet there's such hope just waiting around the corner, and I want to be there. I want to help.
Ha. That all sounds so pretentious.
It degraded into less than words. I love you Gramma. Take care of Grampa for me. Help me take care of me. Thank you for loving me enough to be here for me. I can feel you, and I'm so grateful. |
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