Life's Changes Ch. 03

They auctioned off the acres. Then moved to the house. Someone signaled that they wanted the combination, so they began the lowest bid for the house and the land. With each new number, Danielle's eyes widened, and her breathing shortened. She noticed her head shaking, jerking back and forth, indicating that no, this wasn't happening.

"Sold!" A yelp escaped Danielle's lips, and her mother's head hung as she cried.

The man who ended up 'winning', grinned and headed for the auctioneer. Danielle wanted to launch herself at his head, and tear his face off. But pain and good manners held her firmly to the ground. People milled about, the vultures eagerly claiming their prizes. Danielle watched it all with detachment, unwilling to believe it was true.

Aunt Ann, as the executrix, had to go sign some papers, and everyone else stood and wandered around. Danielle stayed in place, slipping her sunglasses over her eyes. Finally, her regal poise collapsed, and she let her body fall backwards, so she was laying on her back. She wanted nothing more than to scream and kick her feet, but she couldn't move.

Family members asked if she was okay, and she just nodded, staring into the limbs of a tree. Tears slid from her eyes to her ears, wetting her hair. For endless minutes she stayed that way, completely defeated.

The wind calmed her as the sun soothed her. Finally, Danielle sat up and heaved a sigh. That was it.

The scavengers took their loot and departed. The family were the only ones left. They sat in the yard, no one saying much. Each person knew that this would be the last time they could bask in the sun, listen to the gentle hum of the country, and just plain be. The family had lost a mother, an aunt, a sister, a grandma, a great grandma, and a great-great grandma.

The death of a 94 year old woman had taken everyone's life and turned it upside down, only to set it on its side. It would be months, possibly years for everyone to set it right again.

So... it was done. That was it. It was all over save the crying.

And yet, life goes on.

~*~*~*~

Part Two:

~*~*~*~

The family survived Easter. There was no country home to go to, so they decided on church. It helped, and everyone put on a brave face, but to look into the eyes of all present, you knew. You could see that something was wrong; that something was missing.

It had only been a month though, so it was to be expected.

The Forth of July came and went, with nothing to speak of. There wasn't a party, a bonfire, and no one could go out to set off fireworks.

Labor Day weekend, there was no cook out or party of any kind.

Halloween, we didn't go carve pumpkins, or buy candy and 'trick or treat' out in the middle of nowhere.

It was fine though. Sad, yes, but these aren't major holidays.

We enter the month of November. Thanksgiving creeps closer and closer. We all know it's coming, but we're powerless to stop it.

Here it is! The big day!

Things are going smoothly, and we sit down to eat. I glance down at the opposite end of the table. Greatma isn't sitting there, happily munching on Cranberry Salad. First kick in the gut. Everyone finishes eating, but lingers at the table for conversation and coffee. A cup doesn't need to be delivered to Greatma. Second kick. She isn't waving from the far end of the table, saying, "Hello down there!" Third.

I shake my head and take my leave, escaping to the peace of my room. My stepbrother and friend follow, and we all light cigarettes. For some reason, I can't bring myself to go back downstairs.

I know it's rude that I'm not visiting my family, and I know I should be down there.

All I can think about is the fact that Greatma isn't there to talk with. That, and last year. When my aunt and uncle loaded her up in the car and took her back to the nursing home with a cooler full of food. Watching her declining body try to maneuver the steps in the garage was almost my undoing.

So I stay where I am, safe in the confines of my bedroom, smoking cigarettes, laughing and playing games. Pretending everything is fine; that everything is normal. By the time we reappear downstairs, the party is over. Only a few people remain.

One major holiday down, one to go.

I think back to last year. My grandma's back was completely messed up, and so at the beginning of November we had to put Greatma in the nursing home. Thanksgiving was fine, but Christmas was a little harder.

A big snow storm had hit two days before Christmas eve, and it made driving impossible. Luckily, the roads had cleared enough for our family gathering. Instead of taking Greatma out into the bitter cold, we rented the conference room at the nursing home, and brought the party to her.

I remember the sound of my heels clacking on the floor while I carried a laundry basket full of goodies to her room.

I remember the smell of the nursing home, as if I'm standing there as I speak.

I recall my family coming and going.... Everyone hesitant to leave. We were having a great time, despite the circumstances.

In the meanwhile, my grandma had had back surgery, so she was flat on her back out in the country, unable to ride in a car, so she didn't get to come to the family party.

After we finally left the nursing home, we drove out to my grandma's house to spread Christmas cheer to the invalid.

We were almost there when I got tears in my eyes. My voice clogged with emotion, I said to my mother, "This can't be Greatma's last Christmas."

She asked, "Why?"

I replied, "Because I'd feel so bad if her last Christmas was in the nursing home."

We looked at each other with tears in our eyes, and fell silent for the rest of the drive.

The next morning, Santa had come, and we opened gifts and had a wonderful time. Tradition said that we have to drive to my grandma's in our pajamas. It had been that way ever since we moved out. So, clad in our P.J.'s, we drove to the nursing home and walked the halls to Greatma's room. We gave her gifts, goodies, and other miscellaneous items. After our visit, we all hugged and kissed, said our goodbyes, then headed to my grandma, who was still stranded in the middle of nowhere.

Little did I know, that the picture my mom took of Greatma and I hugging and kissing on Christmas morning, is the last picture of Greatma. Ever.

So here we are, almost a year later, and yes, Greatma's last Christmas was spent in the nursing home. I'm sure we'll go to the cemetery on Christmas eve or day, say hello and try and make ourselves feel better.

I don't know what I'll do on December 24th, since there's no home to fall back on. We won't go there and party with the family, then come home and open our first present, which is always a pair of pajamas to wear on Christmas eve.

We won't drive out on December 25th, and sing, "Over the bridge and past the woods, to Greatma's house we go.." as we drive out for our intimate family gathering.

What am I going to do? What are we going to do? Go our separate ways I suppose. Have my grandma spend the night with us on Christmas eve, so we won't have to leave on Christmas day. But I have a feeling, that at nine o'clock Christmas morning, I'll be asking my mom if she's ready to go to Greatma's yet.

There will be no homemade nightgowns, no envelopes with ten dollar bills in them. We won't heat up the ham and have lunch after we all open our gifts. We won't play with our new toys out there, and spend the day.

I just want to scream, "WE CAN'T!!!!" at the top of my lungs.

~*~*~*~

The other night, my friend and I couldn't sleep, so we took off to go driving at four o'clock in the morning. It was snowing, and it's almost Christmastime, so we were listening to Christmas music. Out of no where, for no apparent reason, I got tears in my eyes. Okay, no big deal. It's memories.

No. A sob tore free of my throat, and I started an all out crying jag. I had to pull over because I couldn't see the road.

As I sat there crying and sobbing, and having a breakdown, my friend stroked my hair and murmured that it would be okay. She still had no idea what I was crying over.

I finally regained my composure enough to sputter, "Greatma," before it started all over again.

I was sad, angry, upset, and most of all, my feelings were hurt. My traditions of twenty-two years were thrown to the side, and my Greatma wasn't there anymore.

I sobbed and cried, until there were no more tears to cry. Or so I thought.

Then Johnny Mathis came on the radio, singing, "It's The Most Wonderful Time of The Year." I screeched that he was a liar, and it started all over again.

It's almost been nine months. And yes, this is the first Christmas without her. But I thought I was 'over' it. Well, over it enough to get by. Evidentially, I can lie to myself pretty well.

That morning, after the sun came up, we drove out to the cemetery. The headstone is back up. It has Greatma's name, birth and death dates, as well as her husbands. At the top, Lily of the Valley graces the corners. It's beautiful in it's simple elegance.

So here I sit, on November 25th, with tears running down my face, wishing away the next month so we can get on with it, and get over it.

Somehow, we'll make it through, and it might not even be as bad as I'm anticipating. I don't want to be taken by surprise though, so I'm expecting the worse.

Ironically enough, in the daily quote book I had bought for Greatma years ago, for November 25th, it says, "Home is where the Heart is."

And I've come to realize.....

It means it.