My great grandmother died, she was 99.
For those of you who can and can’t count, that’s a year off of 100.
Why not have waited? At least then I would have been around. At least then I wouldn’t have felt like life was moving away from me, as it left her. At least then, well, maybe.
I’m suposed to write her a letter for the funeral, but all I can think about is Edie Segdwick, gay love affairs (not mine), and not smoking cigarettes. This is all so vain, but today it is my world. Tomorrow will be another story, as was yesterday.
Yesterday I tasted her molasses cookies. Yesterday her house smelled like mothballs, but I liked it. Yesterday I ate raw rhubarb from her garden. Yesterday I thought of her in french. It gives me “du recul” to think and write of her in english because truth is, it always hurts to see someone move away from you and from what you and I understand as being the world.
Rest in peace Mémère Gallette.
Marie-Louise Robichaud, née Gallant ~ 1913-2012