Well, mostly in lieu of words, anyway.
My grandmother's hospital was a solid half-hour walk from where I was staying, and it was a nice walk in the Melbourne autumn. Not too cool, not too hot, and with surprisingly un-autumnal images, to this New Englander's eye. Walking the route, 2-4 times per day, I began to understand the Man's fondness for walking home from work - a quiet walk did much to settle my humming brain. I felt surrounding in a little envelope of focus, of motion and eventually, clean of thought. Ready to just, oh, be.
Which was more or less what I needed to arrive, though inevitably, my momentum would sputter out on the edge of the sidewalk, state of mind or no. A deep breath, squaring of the shoulders and in I'd go. Carrying the touchstones of my walk with me.
taken on this day, when indeed, her fingers uncurled. Mine didn't - but I was less ready than she.
taken on this day, when indeed, her fingers uncurled. Mine didn't - but I was less ready than she.
2 comments:
I'm really sorry to hear about your grandmother. My grandmother died almost a year and a half ago. We were very close, and it has been hard. I hope that you will find comfort in your memories and in talking about her with your family and others who loved her.
I was not expecting that last shot. Heartbreaking for the knowledge, but gorgeous for the love and the closeness, the familiarity. Those hands have obviously had quite a life.
And that first shot? Just wow.
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