Saturday, July 11, 2009


I don't how to write about the last few days. It's too raw too close too unknown still, this slow walk home.

But I will say that I keep playing the tape of my grandmother's voice through my head; the words she's been able to say to me in her few brief lucid moments: "my angel", "sweetheart", "beautiful girl", "that's my girl", "bless you", and "good friend".

She has words for all of us -- words that are equally dear, equally clear -- for her family who have gathered around. She knows us by name and calls for those who weren't able to come.

But I am selfish and my heart is breaking, and I loop only the words in my mind that she gave to me.

Posting by cameraphone from Des Moines, WA.

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