Dans Il Fin, Il Y A Un Debut

Harriet Aronson Burton, August 14, 1916- January 12, 2009

She was one of the most important people in my life. I understand that not everyone is close to their grandparents, and not everyone even has a chance to get to know them, but I did and I was. She was one of my best friends. Thinking about her not being in my life anymore is so hard. I always felt that when we spoke she knew what I wasn’t telling her, and understood why i was keeping it to myself.

At the funeral, watching my family gather around to say goodbye to the glue of who we are, I couldn’t believe that the small marble box was all that was left of her. I couldnt believe that I would never see her again, that I would not make a special trip towards her apartment before going to my parents house. And now I worry- did I tell her I loved her enough? Did she know that? She said we were a lot alike, and I am very much like an aunt who died when I was young, but did I really understand that? Do I now? I didn’t see her enough. I saw her more than a lot of people but we always realize when it was too late the things that we let get in the way.

Last week was rough. Today it has been a week since she left us for whatever else is out there. And I still don’t know what to do with myself. I spent hours on Sunday tearing apart my home to find a picture of us from when I was tiny. I know I had it during Christmas and now it’s gone. Not gone, but not anywhere I can find it right now.

Already 2009 has had some rough spots and it’s only a few weeks in. In Buddhism we focus on Impermanence and we focus on moving foward and letting go. But for some reason I can’t. Not right this second. I know that it will change with each passing day, and that at some point I will wake up in the morning and not be on the verge of tears. What’s funny is how lonely I am without her. I felt like we were so close in so many ways and there isn’t anyone else in my family I feel that way about. Not anymore. When Aunt Elizabeth died I felt the same loss. And here it is again, here we are, losing bits and pieces of our family.

My friends have been amazing during this time, and have helped me more than they can know. I’m not a crier, and I’m not usually a whiner, and I don’t normally ask (unless I’m kidding) “Why?” but I have been. Someone once told me that when we met they thought I was the most emotionally controlled person they had ever met, but when they got to know me, began to think that maybe I felt it more than most people, to the point I can’t share when I’m hurting. When Mom told me that she was gone, it took my breath away and I could hear my heartbeat for a moment. Then I did what I am good at. I wiped away a tear, and said I was fine. I went into my closet and pulled out my black dress and called people and told them, and arranged for someone to take care of my cats. I cleaned the stove. And kept that up for a little while, until the void was too much to bear.

I think, for me, the worst part has been how selfish I was when it came to Grandma. I wanted her to be there when I did something important. She will not be at graduation this year, she’ll never meet the one that makes me the happiest, and if I have children I have no idea how I would express to them how amazing she is. How she held her family together in ways that I could’nt possibly imagine. How she was a working mother when there were no working mothers. How she took my secrets with her to the grave.

I sang all the songs at the funeral, even when my voice almost broke. I prayed, and I thought, and I avoided looking anyone in the eye. Afterwards I played my part. I smiled and said Thank You and watched people file in and file out and hug me (have I ever been hugged so much) and comment on how pretty I was, and how special she was and what I was doing, and how much she loved us. And I went and stood by her grave and listened as Psalms were read, and as the wind came through the trees and in and around our family gravestone. I ate at Matt’s, walked through his home, flipped through books of artifacts and listened to stories of Warren County and stories of Grandma. I watched as the older folks drank wine and snacked on cheese straws and the younger ones milled around the table and have never felt younger than I did at that moment. I finally went into the bathroom and on the edge of a clawfoot bathtub perched, thinking that I wouldn’t be able to wear heels much longer, and waiting. I’m still not sure what I was waiting for. And whatever it was, it did not come. Whatever it was, I am still waiting.