scribblechic

My grandfather was my unspoken favorite, I tagged along behind him unintentionally overlooking the woman hanging laundry, standing at the kitchen counter, or placing jars of tea in the sunshine.  I found my grandmother’s friendship after we lost my grandfather.

Uprooted from her home and alone, my grandmother was a sad stranger.  I was lonely in my father’s home and found my way to her door.  Stepping inside her living room, I always sought my grandfather’s image over her television, setting my compass to North by the warmth of his smile.  I didn’t realize it was my grandmother’s company that centered me.

I accompanied my grandmother on errands, sat beside her in church, kept her company when she was unwell; there was a comfortable quiet between us.  We filled endless hours with collective moments of extraordinarily simple habits.  There were always baked goods cooling on a table and a book resting half finished on an armrest.  I find her company still, long after our last conversation ended, in familiar everyday habits like folding laundry, baking, or sitting with a book.

The other day, I found a smile among crumpled tissues. My grandmother was forever tucking tissues into the wrist of a sleeve, her blouse, waistband, pocket, or palm; these tiny markers would tumble recklessly behind her leaving a path and creating a smile. Little things, tucked inside old habits and stirring happy memories.