I chose St. George, Utah. Close (so I could get back quicker) and it was home to real, live palm trees. A sight I had not yet seen in my 19 years.
We were not yet 10 minutes out of town when "the conversation" began. I was not one to shy away from asking personal questions and she was not one to shy away from honesty. We were on the topic of her youth, a subject we hadn't ever really discussed, or at least one I hadn't taken the time to listen to. She shared some surprisingly intimate things. It was the first time I can remember an adult trusting me enough to share adult information.
I stared at the freeway stretching before us and worked to digest the matter at hand. A frantic blur of flapping wings, a thud and a feathery figure thrown to side of the road. She didn't scream, or slow down or swerve. I settled down further into the passenger's seat and thought about adulthood and dead birds. My head ached.
My headache turned out to be a raging sinus infection and the beginnings of bronchitis. Although the over the counter drugs I was taking turned my first palm tree sighting into a medicated haze my time with her remains wonderfully clear. That was the weekend my grandmother became a real person to me. Not just a grandma, but a woman with hopes, dreams, desires and disappointments. The weekend my great plan of unhappiness was interrupted.
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She was dying of pan-creatic cancer when we gathered around the Thanksgiving table to share our favorite memories. "Our trip to St. George," I said smiling across the room at her. The light reflected off her snow white hair giving her the distinct appearance of a modern day angel. My grandma had an age then. She was 81.
I will be seeing palm trees this weekend
and thinking of her.
1 comment:
Loved this beautiful memory. And as always, so beautifully written-Gina
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