Soul Mates

A year ago, a friend of mine posted about the loss of her father and how it felt like she had lost a soulmate, even a year later.  This resonated with me because it finally put into words exactly how I felt about the loss of my grandmother in December of 2012.  I recall the surreal flight from Atlanta to Boston on Christmas Day for her funeral and how busy the airport was.  It was a reminder of how the world moves on regardless of the season.  I remember the kindness of the rental car agent who switched his accent to his true Irish brogue when my husband spoke and he confessed that he tried to make his accent more neutral when he was working. It was cold and snowy and magical as we walked through Salem in silence the night before the funeral.  I spoke at the old, drafty Catholic church and the Englishman offered me his silk handkerchief from his front suit pocket which I found comforting and very British.  

My grandmother was 98 years old when she died and I knew in my heart at the time that she wouldn't live forever.  She told us all the time that she was ready to go...so much that when she stayed with me and the Englishman for a summer, we sent the dogs in to wake her up every morning because I was terrified that she would have died in her sleep.  I did confess this act years later to my mother who told me that when my great-grandmother lived with my grandmother in Boston, she had her friends check each morning on her mom.  I suppose the appleseed didn't fall far from the apple from the tree.

My grandmother was my friend,  I loved spending time with her and talking to her.  I miss her still and it doesn't get easier.  I enjoyed taking a nap in her room and she would cover me up with a quilt while she continued to read her book.  When I first adopted Chase, she declared him to be "the ugliest dog she had ever seen" yet she loved him all the same and was probably quite relieved when his fur finally grew in.

Each December I feel her presence and her loss and it is a strange and beautiful thing.  I am constantly reminded of James Russell Lowell's poem "The First Snowfall" when I think of the family grave and while this isn't my "first great sorrow", it is still profound. 

So Merry Christmas my soulmate, my partner in crime, my friend and my mentor.  I miss you Grandma.