Just for a brief moment, the thought flickers through my mind that I want to call Mom and tell her the news, or just to chat, or to make plans to have lunch together. Then I remember that she is gone and there is no one to call.
MOM ((at a wedding)
Or I hear on the news that there is to be a meteor shower that night and I want to call Dad, the amatuer astronomer, to see if he plans to get up to watch it. But then I remember, Dad died years ago.
Often I think of my husband. There is some gem about the grandchildren I want to share with him. We were divorced but still on friendly terms. Then I remember that he, too, is gone.
I sometimes find myself wishing I could have just one more slice of my Pennsylvania Dutch Grandma's homemade whole wheat bread. I never knew either of my grandfathers, but I miss both of my grandmothers.
Grandma's sister used to visit during all the major holidays. I miss setting her place at the table. She and Grandma used to get into arguments that went on and on in their quaint Pennsylvania Dutch dialect.
I miss the trips to the mountains to visit my Irish grandmother, the wife of a coal miner. We used to go when the leaves had turned and the whole mountain wore a cloak of gold and red.
MY IRISH GRANDMA
I wonder, sometimes, if what I miss most is simply my childhood.
So much loss. My two grandmothers, both parents, my husband, my favorite aunt, my childhood--all gone. It seems like tears in the fabric of my life. This is how I feel about all this loss.