My necklace

Four years ago today my Grandmother died. I remember it vividly. The memory is potent. It stings my eyes as they well up with tears. She was living in our basement, waiting to die. We all knew it would be soon. That however never seems to make it hurt less. Every time death visits you it feels brand new. I remember the phone call I got from my brother, "she is not going to make it". He barely could speak the sentence. His voice stammered and crackled through the phone. I could hear death on the end of the telephone, as it sat in my basement clutching my Grandmother's lungs. I dropped my books, grabbed my keys, and squeaked out, "I'll be there in 2 hours." To which was responded "you won't make it". I set the phone down and sat on my porch lifeless, hunched over in a chair with my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands. A silver necklace hung from my neck. At the end of the chain hung a tiny silver cross with a square amethyst stone in the center.

It was my Grandmothers

I never took the necklace off after she died. I wore it until the chain wore through the clasp and it broke. It now sits in a box on a dresser hidden away. Much like the body of my Grandmother; put in a box, placed in a wall by my family and I, far from me now but so close to my heart. Much like the purple stoned cross that hung on my neck and lay against my chest. I remember her laugh. I remember the goofy faces she made. I remember how much she hated getting old. I remember the way she swore when she thought no one could hear. Memories are all I have left of her. Her face imprinted in my brain, and in photographs. Photographs much like my necklace, much like my Grandmother. Placed in a box, and tucked away.

For Irene Roberts

I love and miss you

Thank you for the necklace.....