I wrote the following in my journal… but I really wanted to share it with all of you.
How do you tell someone its okay to die?
Many, many years ago, in a small town somewhere in Iowa… when my grandmother was about my age, she fell in love with a boy named Bill Paterson. The details of her past are hazy at best in my own memory… but I will try to relate what I can remember.
Ever since I can recall, she’s kept a photo of Bill on her dresser. On the back is a small note in my grandmothers carefully even and perfectly spaced cursive that reads “When I am gone, please place this picture over my heart.” When I was younger, I questioned this and she calmly explained that when it was her time she would like Bills photo to be placed in her casket so she could keep it with her… always.
I remember joining her on a trip back to Iowa many many years ago. We walked around the streets of the town where Bill lived… she talked about how much she had loved him… and spoke often of the places he used to take her to rollerskate, and the sincerity of his charm. I vaguely recall urging her to look him up and contact him, I was probably eleven at the time. She insisted that she had better not, figuring he was married by then and not wanting to disturb his family. It seemed to me then, and still does to this day, that she was waiting for a perfect moment… 60 years passed and she was still waiting for some divine intervention to lift her frail arthritic hand and call the boy she’d fallen so desperately in love with so many years ago.
My grandmother is a stubborn woman. I often wonder if divine intervention would ever be enough to change her course of action.
From what I am told, he loved her as well… I’m lost as to why they never married… but she married once, very young, I know… and annulled a few months later. To the best of my knowledge, Bill was not her groom. Shortly thereafter she was wed to my grandfather, Bob Hoskins. I dont remember much about my grandfather… he died when I was five or so… but I remember very clearly how my grandmother spoke of their relationship… How he would drink and spend time with his friends… how much she cherished the very rare occasion that he took her out. I remember the stories of her raising my mother and her five older siblings single-handedly… with only one another to look to for support.
I never forgave my grandfather for this. I realize that he was in the service and couldn’t be with her for large stretches of time… but I can not forgive him for not being there when he could have. She deserved so much better and even as I’m writing this… I’ve already lost control of my tears.
I dont know how it ended between them, but she remarried once after this.
Again, not to poor, precious Bill Patterson.
My mothers stepdad’s name was Ernie. He smoked incessantly and died of emphysema shortly after I was born. I hate him. I dont remember him, of course. But he was an abusive drunk that terrorized my mom and hurt my sweet, sweet 4’11" 100lb grandmother… incapable of protecting herself from a full grown man with anger management issues.
My grandmother has always deserved so much more than she would ever accept.
She’s remained single for the last 22 years… after sitting bedside to a man who never deserved her until after his last breath had come and gone.
But she never forgot about Bill… it’s been well over 60 years since she fell in love with him and his photo still rests on her dresser.
Last week she was informed that Bill had died 11 years ago.
My grandmother is 83 years old and the love of her life is gone from this world forever.
I haven’t spoken with her yet, but I’m told she mentioned being ready to go on.
She’s so tired and all I can do is write this and cry. How do you tell somebody that it’s okay to go on when they’re finished when all you really want to do is crawl up next to them and make them tell you stories built from memories jogged from the black and white photo album that’s coming apart at the seams?
My grandmother was everything to me that my parents weren’t able to be when I was young.
She’s 83 years old now… and I just wish I could pull out a family album and put her sadness aside for just awhile.
I wish I could do the things she did for me when I needed her the most.
I’m afraid I’ll never be as magical as she is.
I’m crying because I’m selfish.
I love you, gramma. When you’re ready, I promise not to keep you waiting, love.