It must have been an evening just like this, warm and hazy, the sun lingering on the horizon.
Our two families lived on a hillside out in the country, separated by a small woods and a short gravel road, and my grandmother told me that she had come over to our house, for desert I think. I don't know if my grandfather was with her. At any rate, the adults talked for awhile in the kitchen.
"The baby's already down," my mother said. "Would you like to go in and take a peek?" "
Oh, no," said my grandmother. "I don't want to disturb him. I'll see you tomorrow."
If I had only known, she would say later. If I had only known. Meaning, If I had only known that I would never see either one of them again.
And then she would say that as she walked home she could hear my mother singing through the kitchen window as she did the dishes.
October 4, 1960
8 comments:
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I'm sorry Robin :-( Wow, that is so weird. I wasn't even born yet. How long you have lived without those beloved family members. Pamela
The empty space they leave never goes away...never gets completely filled by anyone or anything. Even after so many years! (((((hugs))))) Lisa :-]
Wow. Hugs upon hugs hon'...hug upon hugs. ;) C. http://journals.aol.com/gdireneoe/thedailies
{{{{{{{Hugs to you!}}}}}}} What happened?
{{{{{{{Robin}}}}}}}}. The pain is still so clearly raw. But the message I will take is to never ever leave without saying goodbye and I love you. Even if it's just to run my kids to school 1 1/2 miles down the road.
Whoa...I read this after today's entry! Thanks for sharing this! Lisa
I'm sorry that October is a reminder of this for you. I know from your writing here that it causes you to regard each moment as more precious, each goodbye as possibly the last, and each person as possibly transient -- these are the gifts but memories like these...
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