reflecting on sweaters and tissues
I rather enjoyed the dreariness of Sunday. I pulled back the curtains from the sliding doors, giving me a perfect view of the little creek behind the house. It had swelled from the rains, and the usual gentle waters were tumultuous as they turned this way and that, cascading over obstacles with great abandon. The rain continued to fall, gathering in small pools in the low areas throughout the yard. Every so often, the wind would blow, shaking excess rain drops from the darkened branches.
I was recovering from a severe head cold/sore throat that knocked me out for several days and left me a bit despondent. With nothing to do except recover from my illness, I found myself thinking about the past – eight years in the past, to be exact – which also has something to do with my somewhat melancholy spirits.
You see eight years ago, my grandma was nearing the end of her life. I always think about her during the first week of March, and I was keenly reminded of her as I moped about my small dwelling this weekend wrapped in her massive wool sweater. And it was hard not to think of her last days as I myself lay sick in bed, but I mostly remembered her stash of just-in-case tissues.
Awhile after Grandma died, the Schwartz women gathered at the house to go through Gram’s clothes. It was not an easy task, but Grandma managed to make it easier on us. Every time we picked up a sweater or jacket or various other clothes, we found unused tissues in the pockets. The more we went through her clothes, the more tissues we found. Each discovery made us shake our heads and laugh. None of us had been aware that Grandma had a tendency to stash tissues in her pocket just in case. The dreaded chore soon turned into a game of seeing who would find the next item of clothing with a tissue in its pocket. I’m sure Gram could not have known that her mindless little habit would bring her daughters, daughters-in-law, and granddaughters so much amusement.
Eight years and I still miss my grandmother dearly, but her memory is never far from thought. She seemed ever so near to me every time I pulled her sweater tightly around me and shoved my hands into its pockets that were filled with an ample supply of tissues during my head cold confinement. Eight years and Grandma still finds ways to bring me comfort and joy.
reading with grandma