June 23, 2004 - 9:07 a.m.
I was surprised yesterday afternoon when I suddenly felt hungry. Famished, even. In the great tradition of stuffing the bereaved with cakes, pies, and deviled eggs, Grandmommy's kitchen was piled up with food. Not all of it was good. That "key lime pie" a neighbor dropped by was more "lime jello meringue pie." Worse than it sounds. My grandmother tried to send me home every evening with a cooler full of chicken, ham, apple spice cake, eggs, and other things. Since her she stocks her refrigerator lightly most of the time, I tried to take as little as possible while she attempted to give me as much as my car could bear. We had this conversation over and over:
Here, take this platter, too.
Grandmommy, really, I have enough. You might want that later.
But it's more than I can eat. It'll go bad. Take half of it.
But Grandmommy, I don't *like* shrimp...
How about the meatloaf, then?
I really thought I wouldn't want to eat again for half a week, at least.
I'd like to thank everyone who left messages in my guestbook and by email and those who kept my family in your thoughts and prayers this weekend. This branch of my family is small and close. My grandparents were only 47 when I was born and, as my mother is an only child, my sister and I are the only grandchildren. My grandfather's world seemed to revolve around us and we thought he hung the moon in the sky.
This weekend I realized that my memories of him when he was healthy have become much clearer. When I think of him, I do not see him as he was in the nursing home. I can easily recall his laugh, his voice, and the twinkle in his eyes when he told what he considered a particularly clever joke. Granddaddy loved puns. Those memories were welcome but came with a more profound sense of loss than I felt the day he died. I miss him terribly.
