SMALL KINE HIPPIE

I’ve always felt my grandmother’s prayers protecting me, as far back as my memory goes. I remember living at her house for a short while when we moved back to California; I remember her sweet smile, the smell of her kitchen, her wild, curly hair and always-coordinated outfits.

I also adored her, also for as far back as I can remember. I felt very close to her and my grandfather, and kept that closeness even as I became an adult. I called often, talked about them often, thought of them even more. They always held a powerful, almost-magical, omnipresent place in my life, my heart, my existence. 

Even with a peaceful, expected passing after a long and love-filled life, her loss hit me hard. It felt like a central chunk of my chest or heart had crumbled. Like a pillar, suddenly removed from its astute row, and unable to be replaced. 

Little things would trigger her memory – cookies rising (or burning)in the oven, the background noise of the tv covering a baseball game, the fragrant pages of a well-read book. It all triggered joy and sadness, loss and also release. 

I guess that’s how to process the loss of a loved one – to remember, to cry, get busy with life for a bit and forget, and circle back as you remember them again. Like an upward spiral, that gets better as it cycles on. Though if there were a reason for an upward spiral in my life, it would be her, and my grandfather. They’ve always been one, and if I’m lucky enough, they always will be.