more than intermittent

In the pit of my stomach there is a churning that is creating this horrible nasty feeling called guilt. It started on Sunday during my journey home from Florida and it has continued to grow and I am not sure how to stop it.

While I was still in Florida, I received a text from the Brother asking if I wanted him to pick me up at the airport in city to the North so I could attend Thanksgiving dinner at my Aunt's. I replied with a no, as I was already anticipating being tired and couldn't bear the thought of having to play the role of happy, rested, and vibrant daughter/niece/cousin/sister. I told him that I would just return home with SaskMom and her family as was the original plan.

I arrived home at about 5:30 pm on Sunday and spent the remainder of the evening unpacking and relaxing. At around 10:00 pm the Brother returned from my Aunt's. I was thankful that I elected to come straight home rather than stay for the dinner. Of course, I questioned the Brother on the events of the family dinner. He told me the gossip about my cousins and dramas of the family. I also asked about my parents, specifically my dad. The Brother said that he looked a little better than the last time he saw him. However, the whole time all Dad talked about was wills and power of attorney and so on.

And the feeling of guilt that started earlier in the day increased by about 250%. I know my Dad hasn't been doing well. I know that he has been struggling. I know that I should spending as much time as possible with him. But yet, I was selfish and choose to go straight home so I could relax. I am worried that my Dad is giving up. That the health problems have become so overwhelming that he no longer has the energy to be positive and look to the future with hope.

So now all I am left with this feeling of guilt...and worry.

One evening as I was walking in the park, I passed a lady that was the spitting image of my Grandma M. She had the same silver gray hairstyle. The same stride, full of purpose and vigor. Even her smile was similar. She caused the memories to come flooding back.

It would have been winter. A typically cold but bright sunny day. The light and warmth from the sun streaming through the window. A quilt she was working on stretched out on the frame, filling up the whole room. It was one of those giant old wood frames that she would prop up on chairs. She would sit hunched over that quilt for hours pouring love into every stitch. As a child I would crawl underneath, lay on my back and stare at the sun illuminated colours dreaming of princesses, dragons, ballerinas, and all manner of interesting characters. Even when I was in high school I would slip under that protective cover to read or daydream.

She made quilts for everyone. All the grandkids had a handmade quilt from Grandma M. I still have the last one she made specifically for me. She made it my final year of high school. She put a neutral beige pattern on one side and fun fur on the other because she knew that I liked the way it felt against my skin. That quilt has seen its fair share of tears, sniffles, and laughter. It even travelled with me to Japan. It was impractical to take it with me but it sure helped ease the homesickness some days.

Grandma M was my mother's mother. She was a sweet, generous, and hard working individual. She worked as an operator for the Canadian Forces. She was a mother and homemaker. She survived living with an alcoholic who died in a car accident. She was in a word amazing. She was also in great shape. She walked about 5 miles approximately 5 times a week. She was very dedicated to her church. It was her social network. The thing I liked the most about her involvement with the church was that she never pushed religion on us. She would invite us to church but never forced us to go. Sometimes I went just to make her happy. I loved to see her smile.

It was a huge shock to the whole family when she passed away unexpectedly. It was an aneurysm. Some of the church ladies were expecting her at an event and she never arrived. Grandma was rarely late and when she didn't answer the phone a few of the ladies went to check on her. I remember my mom telling me that they called her to ask where the spare key was as the door was locked and they were very concerned. This was unlike my Grandma. When they entered the house, they found her face down in the hallway. There was nothing they could do as the death was almost instant.

I took it harder than most of the grandchildren. I had lived with her for a vast majority of my life. In fact there were a few of my teen years that I spent more time with Grandma than I did with my parents. We didn't have heart to heart talks but there was a quiet comfort that we shared with each other.

November will be 11 years since she passed. And I still miss her every day...

j.

As you read this I will on plane on my way to Orlando. I am looking forward to getting away and being distracted by the sights. I have actually managed to complete a few posts that have been in the works for what seems like an eternity. I have scheduled them to appear while I am away. It is crazy to think that I am able to have more posts while I am away than when I am home. Enjoy! See you in a week!