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To me, my granny was everything. She was my dearest friend, my pillar of support, and my rock. Her death created an empty space that no one could sense.
She seemed content as I gazed at her casket, her hair styled the way she always desired, but I was so devastated that I didn’t think I could ever get over the fact that I would never see her again.
To say their last goodbyes to the lady who changed many lives and touched many hearts, all of her friends and neighbors gathered at the funeral home.
I saw my mother in the corner of the room as I stood there, tears streaming down my cheeks. She pretended to be saying goodbye to a total stranger while using her phone.
Although I was aware that she and my grandmother had never gotten along, I was nevertheless astounded by her lack of concern for the death of her own mother.
I saw my mother putting something in my grandmother’s casket once, when the place was packed and I was talking to Mrs. Anderson,
Who told me how much my grandma loved me. I couldn’t reasonably guess what my mother slipped inside because I was unaware of any requests my grandmother had.
I waited until everyone had gone before removing the box wrapped in a blue handkerchief from under my grandmother’s lifeless corpse because I was so curious.
I mumbled, “I’m sorry, Grandma,” as I briefly touched her icy palm. I sat in my grandmother’s rocking rocker later that night and gazed at the gift.
“Mom, what are you concealing?” As I painstakingly unraveled the tattered thread, I mumbled. There were handwritten notes from my grandma to my mother within.
My grandmother wrote on them that she was aware of what I did. She was aware that she was the one taking her money so she could bet.
She also said in the last one that she was giving me the home, all of her possessions, and the money she had saved over the years. I became cold. I found this fact to be too difficult to bear.
The extravagant Christmas presents, her demands to “borrow” my credit card for “emergencies,” and her attempt to get power of attorney all suddenly took on a menacing tone.
I requested my mother to meet me at the coffee shop on the corner when I phoned her the next morning.
She grinned at me. She attempted to touch my hand as she took the seat, but I wouldn’t let it. Rather,
I put the stack of letters on the table and warned her that the truth would be revealed if she attempted to go after my grandmother.
She opened her mouth to respond, but I got up and walked away. Some secrets, it turns out, are unburyable.