Monday, January 26, 2004

Forever.

This thing doesn't exactly have a set title yet. I've just been messing around with a few ideas, I guess. So if you think of an appropriate sounding one, let me know. Anyway. Yeah, as I mentioned before, this was a product of my weekend, and it's been an idea I've played with for quite some time. I've thought about putting it on the boards, but I don't think that'd be appropriate. That, and I'm a little hesitant to show it to people. Thus why I'm putting it here instead; as far as I know, the only people who read my O are the few who comment, and maybe a few stragglers. (At least, methinks so. o.O;;) Any sort of criticism is nice, but keep in mind this is very personal - if you're mean about it, I'll hate you forever. Fair enough warning for you? Lovely! Let's get started. ----------------------------- It’s been a couple years since you died, Grandma. Maybe just over that. But I keep getting older, and I’m beginning realize that time is relative. Years can seem like months, months can seem like days, and fifteen minutes in my math class can seem like an eternity. Logically, you’ve been gone for a long time. Long enough for the rest of us to come to terms with it. But in me the wounds are still fresh. Sometimes it hurts so bad, Grandma. I never got closure. I never gave you a chance, and I regret that every day. I thought I knew things back then, I thought I knew myself, and I know now that I knew nothing. All that bitterness I felt was based on assumptions, based on myths; on situations I couldn’t even begin to comprehend. I want to explain myself, I want to try, but who can simplify the complexities of the human mind? You made my mother cry. That’s all I remember, and by god, I held onto that. Much longer than I ever should have. And who was I to judge you, Grandma? What was I thinking? Forgive and forget… that’s one of the hardest lessons I’ve ever had to learn. And I’m still learning it, a few times over. It’s a slow process. I wish there was some other way, but maybe for me there was no other way. Maybe this is just how it had to be. This is how I had to understand it. And I do now. I tried to keep all the pain inside for a long time. All the regret, all the bitter tastes, all my tears, I’ve kept it all safely tucked away where no one would ever see it. At least, that’s what I thought. But it made me unhealthy. I grew up with all those ideas festering inside. I grew up hiding what I felt, never really being honest with myself or anyone else, and that’s hurt me more than anything else has. I’ve been my worst enemy. I bet you understand that. I believe that with all my heart now; I need to. I wish you were still here. You would be so proud of me, I think. I’ve tried to do so much; I’ve tried to push myself to learn, and to grow, so I don’t make these horrible mistakes again. I want other people to know, too. I want to teach them about my pain so they won’t ever have to go through it. It’s the best kind of therapy I can give myself, at least until we have the chance to talk again. I’m really looking forward to that, Grandma Mord. There’s so much I want to tell you. About my interests, about my passions, about my dreams. What I’ve learned so far, and what I’ve yet to learn. You missed so much, for having been gone for such a small amount of time. I’m taking a Shakespeare class. I know you would have liked that. Even if I didn’t know much about you, I know you would have at least appreciated that. And that William. He really knows his stuff. He really does. Sometimes it really upsets me that there are things that you will never see. I did learn to love, although it took so long, and only after so much grief. I’m only just learning about that. It’s kind of funny, actually, because I sometimes feel like I’m turning into one of those disgusting things I’ve always looked down on. Sometimes, I have to stand back and wonder how things change so fast, and so easily. I just had to let myself. I had to open up. You never saw me graduate. I went out with honors, Grandma. Tons of medals and cords, and a gold ribbon. And I made so many good memories to look back on. We had theatre in common. A love for literature, a love for language, for the words, for a story. I never feel closer to you than when I’m reading something like that. And I’m leaving a lasting memory in Yearbook. What they’re making now is essentially my baby. It was my project – my blood, sweat, and tears. And you know I love leaving something behind. It’s in our blood. That strive, that determination, that damn work ethic. Heh, sometimes I sit in front of the computer, cursing my genes because I can’t bring myself to really slack off. But you know, that did come from my mom, just as much as it came from all of you. I don’t really know what ever went on between you and my mom. I don’t know if I ever want to. That’s not important anymore. And I’m really, really happy that I can finally say that. I’ve held that hurt inside for much longer than I ever should have, and even as I think about it now, I feel a little better. I feel closer to you. I wish we had been closer. I wish I had taken the chance to really talk to you; to find out more about your life, about your experiences, and really appreciate them. I wish we could have talked about movies and books together, maybe gone to a few plays. I wish we could have driven down some dusty beach road with the top down and the cool wind in our hair, just like in Thunder Road. There are so many things I wish, Grandma. But for now I’ll just have to cherish every faded memory I have of you – even if in a lot of them you were scolding me about cracking my knuckles. No matter how distant we might have been, I always loved you, and I always will. I need you to know that. Maybe you did. Maybe all grandmothers know that. Maybe one day I’ll know that. Right now, I can only hope that I’ll grow into someone you’ll be proud of, something brave and strong and true. Someone a little like you. That’s a comforting thought to me. Until that happens though, I’ll just take comfort in my faith that you will always be with me, always and forever.

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