It's the first time I've woken up and relaxed at home in a while. It's Wednesday and it's an odd feeling; when "coming home" used to be for weekends but it's now, somehow, pushed to the middle of the week.
I've been catching snippets of family time in between long periods of being out. I've been sleeping on museum concrete floor, sleeping in a plush bed that isn't mine. Lunching in my car with the windows cracked open just a bit, standing among crowds that have no draw to me.
My grandma's brother passed away last week. The news came in the briefest of passing from my mom who, at the time, hadn't yet broke the news to my grandma herself. I can't even remember if I was there when she did tell her. But now that I am home to wake up to my grandma eating half of the food on her plate - bits and pieces of spam, pandesal, and whatever else from the day before -- and storing the rest away for later, I hear her mention it as a reality that has been mulled over.
She tells me a few things as she holds the letter from my cousins and their parents in the Philippines. How her brother (Rose) is next to her [in age], followed by a list of the order of their ages, and who has already passed away. I don't know how many of them there were in total or where my grandmother falls in the order, but I know that she wasn't the closest to them as she was taken away to live with another part of her family when she was very young. I don't know if that meant she was spoiled or drastically detached compared to her siblings, but she remembers enough.
She's looking through her bag of perscriptions from Walgreens now, standing up and slowly reading and sorting through each bottle, bag, descriptive paper. I wish she'd just ask me from the get go what to take since I am here.
On the letter, she points out misspellings. I don't have the heart to tell her that it could be the automatic autocorrect on their email program, browser, or computer. Coming from a time where letters were handwritten, and each letter was put down deliberately, these misspellings seem to come out to her as significant. For example, Brynnie would spell her name with an extra "e", as "feeling"; this she writes out to me in her careful, leaning hand. The "f" seems to be backwards and I can't tell if that is a product of time or a product of her learning. For all I know, I could be the one that is backwards.
As annoying as they were, I miss the mornings waking up to her blasting radio, a little purple and black thing or a rectangular grey box, each with an extendable antenna that she never used. I still get to hear her sewing in the middle of the day, though it is a little more disturbing now that I see her carrying the machine to the table herself and never asking for help. She is 84. I pray her bones and steadiness hold up. I pray that I have the patience and motivation to make her life easier for her at this age.
My mom rushed to work this morning with a trunk full of recyclable cans. Things just build up here and I'm not helping alleviate the burden. There is no home I am part of if I cannot contribute and that is what has felt like a misgiving on my end for a while. I brought home the stuffed animals from the carnival and they added a little life and smiles to the living room; goofy, oversized faces peek out over the green and white checkered couch to greet you. I hope I can give my mom and grandma more reason to smile and more feelings of love.
Enough reflecting; time to do more now that I'm not in the haze of "eat-talk-sleep". (Or should I say "eat-LISTEN-sleep"?) I got exhausted realizing how much the words and thinking don't end. I feel like I have more control and less tolerance of people giving too much time and thought to something that is not relevant to the people at the moment. It is a consciousness and courtesy that I feel out to be afforded more to each other. Otherwise, what is the purpose of keeping each other company? Just write to a blog like me! Ha.
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