Memories Made of Wood

It may look like just an ordinary table. Sadly, some may think it ugly. Both couldn’t be further from the truth. What lies buried deep within the wood are years and years of memories. Of laughter. Of love.

Once upon a time, this table was the only table in my grandmother’s modest little apartment.

If you’ve read my “Yup, I’ve Got Boobs” (http://lifeinmonkeyland.blogspot.com/2009/10/yup-ive-got-boobs.html) post, you have caught a small glimmer into the awesomeness that was my grandmother. Her and my aunt were the first and only real strong female role models that I had growing up. Whenever I look at my family and wonder how I fit in, I think of them and it begins to make sense. She was also the only grandparent I’ve ever known.

Grandma passed away December 30th, 1999 of Pancreatic Cancer. Fuck you very much again Cancer. I remember someone looking at me and saying “Awww she just missed seeing the new millennium.” She was the feistiest 85 year old you would have ever met and I know exactly what her response would have been “New millennium, same shytting thing.” Someday I plan on writing a series of posts on her. Not only because the stories are great, but because they need to be preserved so I may hand them down to the girls and they can hand them down. To listen to them tell their children how great grandma rode to work on the back of a Harley and made the best Matzoh Ball soup ever is something I hope I live to hear.

Someday. But not today. I don’t have the strength in me today to open that all up. This last year has been one continual fight against the very type of beast that took my grandmother and my aunt. And it has gotten overwhelming. There have been days where I am so tired I just want to curl in a ball and cry. But then I think of them, take a deep breath and think “I’ve got this.” I miss them both so much.

Today I stood in the pouring rain, holding the door open as my parents brought it out of the back of their minivan. As soon as the first chair came out, I caught my breath. By the time the table came out, the lump in my throat was huge. I kept trying to swallow it, hoping the rain would help me wash it down. I haven’t seen it since before she passed.

Now it sits in our home where our memories, our laughter, our love can be added to those already within it. Its mere presence has already brought me comfort. I want to hug it, to sit at it and lay my head upon it… listening for her voice, smelling for Matzoh Ball soup.

To many it may look like a simple table. To me it is a piece of my grandma.