Marion

I am a huge Sex and the City fan. There is this scene where Mr. Big is back in New York and over dinner he tells Carrie he is in town having heart surgery. She burst into tears. Later she is telling her friends about his surgery and she burst into tears again.

I had the same reaction.

I called my grandmothers house and knew something was wrong. I called my father and found out she has been in the hospital for a couple weeks. See…here we go. I am a faucet! Why the strong reaction?

My parents separated and divorced when I was very young. I lived with my mother in the same small town as my father’s family. While my dad was across the country, his family stepped in to help raise me. Especially my grandmother.

Every Sunday she came to take me to church. Even in my moody middle school years, she showed up. She talked to me; asked me questions. She was genuinely interested in my life; in me. After the service, we usually went to one of the two small diners in our small town. Even if I had not wanted to go to church, by the end of our brunch, I found myself in these fascinating conversations with my gram. I always knew how much she loved me.

When I moved to Florida, she wrote and called. Nothing was going to get in the way of her affirming her love for me. She listened and we talked. We talked about religion and politics and men and family and my hopes and dreams and her hopes and dreams. I had no idea that she had turned down two marriage proposals and had given up on the idea of getting married by the time she was my age when I moved. Who knew she would meet my grandfather and go on to have such a big, beautiful family? We had so much in common!

As an adult, I did something that was misinterpreted/misunderstood by part of my family and they were pissed at me (and still are). My grandmother may have had her opinion on the matter but she called and continued to write and we continued to talk.

I carried my twins and she sent me prayers for the expectant mother. I said them every night. I brought my twins home and embarked on this new journey of motherhood. She called and wrote and we talked. I asked her questions and she offered advice.

Now when we talk, she asks me the same questions a couple different times in the same conversation. She has to refer back to some notes she keeps on certain dates, etc. But we still talk and she still writes. She always loves me. It is so important to her that I know that. And I do.

I am so scared that my family will not include me these events…I am scared that I will not know that my grandmother has been in the hospital. Even though that side of my family has written me off to an extent, they have no idea that this woman, my grandmother, never did. She always called and wrote and we have always talked. They have no idea how important she is to me and how important I am to her. As her mind continues to fade, I am so fearful that I will lose touch with one of the most beautiful, intelligent, compassionate and loyal woman that I know.