Sunday, August 26, 2012
Doors open, doors close
On Wednesday I brought my oldest witch, Rosy, to college.
Born in a blizzard in 1994, I dropped her off in a vibrant, color filled place.
How do you leave your child? How do you assess her safety? (How do you live without her?)
But, to her credit, Rosy made the experience shine. She was happy. She was secure. She was excited. And in turn, that excitement dulled the pain of driving home without her.
So there we were, stuck in traffic, two little witches in the back seat and a bear of a husband starting fights with other drivers.
Me? I was lost in thought. The seeds of a new novel growing like weeds.
My cell phone rings. It's my mother.
My grandmother had fallen and they thought she'd had a stroke. She was dying, they said.
I still had four hours of travel before I could get to her.
The cars stood still on the highway. I wanted to become a giant and walk over them, crushing them as I went, so I could get to her and say goodbye. Say goodbye... again. Goodbye to the child I raised. Goodbye to the woman who raised me. Too many goodbyes.
Finally, we arrived back in New Haven. My husband (who'd gone from Bear to Kitten because of the news), dropped me off at the hospital. So much dropping off. Dropping off my daughter, the EMT's dropping off my grandmother. Too many dropping offs.
I ran to her. Flew to her.
The doctors said to prepare ourselves. That she would not live.
She did, in fact, live. Only different now. No words make sense. Her thoughts are gone. Her memory? Gone. She's gone. So much leaving. My daughter leaving, my grandmother leaving.... too much leaving.
It wasn't a stroke. It wasn't an infection. It was the beginning of the end.
She's going to live somewhere else now. A nursing home for sure. The one place she didn't want to be.
She's confused. Thinks she's in prison. Thinks she's at a boarding house. Thinks we abandoned her.
She'll move into a small room. One we can decorate. Kind of like a dorm room.
My mind works in circles.
Doors open, doors close.