Carpe Diem

"So why don’t you start from the beginning Ivy. Take as much time as you need. I’m listening.˝

̏Ahmm okay. Here goes.

11:11, that was the time that she died. The time forever engrained in my memory. They say the Universe is crazy and unpredictable and in times of death it reminds us that we are not in control. My grandmother did not believe that. She lived everyday as if on purpose and she spoke as if everything which happened, every encounter, every conversation, was hers for the choosing.

I don’t remember much of the funeral. The faces, the people coming in and out of that old Victorian style house. But I remember the smell. For an old Victorian house, with floor boards that creaked and furniture reminiscent of times past, it had a sweet smell, of flowers and roses. She always had roses on the center table. Bright, beautiful red roses that seemed to bloom all year round. But those were gone. Died I suppose, like she did. But the smell. The smell was still there, or perhaps it was only in my memory.

She always had a phrase ‘Carpe Diem’, Seize the Day. No matter how crazy the day was, she always looked at me and said,

‘Its your choice Ivy. The day is what you make it. Create the perfect moment for you and live it.’

I never understood what she meant by that. But my grandmother always spoke in mysterious ways. Well, I guess I understand that now.

I was there for the reading. Her house I mean. We had all gathered together for the reading of her will. The room was filled with my cousins and relatives. Each one with sadness on their face, some with expectation as if grandma possessed some secret wealth that would be given to them. I remember thinking, Grandma would not have liked this. She would have said that we were giving our lives over to fate, to chance by even being here. She hated things like this. She believed in being the creator of your own fortune. So a will reading? A gathering of friendly faces waiting in expectation to see if they would receive anything, she would have loathed. And I guess I loathed it too. I don’t know if I hated it for her or for me. But all I could hear was her voice in my head saying,

‘What is it that you wish for? What is it that you want?’

And I hated myself for thinking like that. Because I felt like them – my relatives. Waiting in anticipation. And then I heard it. My name.

‘Anastasia? Anastasia Ives?’

The lawyer spoke in the most mundane voice. As if this was simply another day for him.

Anyways, I let out a huge sigh and walked over to him.

I don’t know what his name was. I don’t think I cared really.

‘Here is your box. Your grandmother has willed this box to you. She says it is of special value.’

I mean, its not even the way he said it that made me laugh but it was the words – special value. It sounded just like granny. Everything was of special value.

So I said thank you and walked back to my chair in the corner. Honestly, I wish I could have just left at this point, but I didn’t.

It was a beautiful box. It had my name carved into it as if she was planning this moment her whole life. I didn’t open the box just then. I knew Granny would not have wanted that. So I sat there, clutching to it as if I was holding on to her. Staring out the window, imagining myself anywhere but here.

And then her voice came to me.

‘Choose a time, choose a place and live in it.’

I don’t know why I waited, but I decided to open the box later that night. I guess in a way I was listening to her. Choosing a time and a place. There was a letter in the box, placed on top of a little black diary. The letter said:

Dear Anastasia,

If you are reading this, then I want you to know that it was not fate but choice which has given this box to you today. Remember everything I’ve taught you. Remember everything we would say. Remember the places we would go and always remember to Seize the day. I’ve left you something. Something I think no one else would understand but you. And so my dear Ivy, I gift you my diary. It’s been passed down from my mother and her mother before her, and now I give it to you. Write in it everything. Write your best and your worst days. Write as if your life depended on it. There is nothing too small or too big. Just write.

And promise me that when the time is right you will gift this book to someone you love. Someone who can learn just as you will.

This book has been a blessing to me and it has taught me everything that I now hope to teach you. My dear Anastasia, guard this book with your life and it will gift you a life greater than anything you could ever imagine. I love you my darling.

Carpe Diem.

Your Grandmother

I can’t even tell you what ran through my mind reading that. I mean first it was a what the hell kind of moment and then I just laughed. Cause, why not? Leave it up to granny to write a letter that I have no idea what she is talking about. But it was a lovely book. A small little black book. Leather bound, with a little string bookmark inside. It was weird though. The diary looked brand new but she said it was generational. Honestly, I still can’t figure that part out but I figured she must have had it rebound because it had my name engraved on the cover, in the most beautiful cursive was the word Ivy.

Anyways, as I lifted the book an envelope fell out. I opened it and it was a cheque for $20,000 dollars. Honestly, I just laughed and then cried. Because it meant that, that day, our last day together meant something to her too.

Our last day together we sat by the lake in front of her home and spoke the entire day. She told me about her life, her childhood and about all the many suitors who would vie for her attention. That day she asked me,

‘Lily, what would make you happy?’

She always asked these questions.

‘20,000 dollars and I would consider myself a happy camper grandma.’

I wasn’t serious when I said it and she knows that. But yet here I was sitting with a cheque for $20,000 in my hand with no one to thank.

How do you say thank you to someone who is gone? How do I tell her that I missed her so much my heart could burst. That she was the only mother I ever knew and I would give anything to spend one more day with her.”

“Do you need a moment? There are some tissues on the table beside you.”

“Thank you. I’m ok. That night I decided I was going to tell her everything. So I took out my little black book and decided to write, telling her everything I wanted her to know. How I wished I could be with her again by the lake, listening to her, holding her hand and how I loved her with all my heart.

And that’s how it started. I wrote about the last day we spent together by the lake. I wrote about the stories she told me that day, about the adventures she had in her childhood and about her suitors. It was a day I never wanted to forget, so I wrote everything I could remember. From the sun shining through the window that morning, to the smell of her freshly made pancakes. I wrote about running to breakfast and seeing her sitting outside in her favourite rocking chair, staring into the garden. I wrote for what felt like hours and then I placed my bookmark into my diary and went to sleep.

I guess this is where you can say it got strange. When I woke up the next day, I was in my bed with the sun shining through the window. My diary was on my nightstand and before I could reach for it, I noticed the smell. The air was filled with the smell of the most delicious pancakes, just like granny would make. I walked down the stairs into the kitchen but something outside caught my eye. I walked out to the patio and there she was. It felt like a dream, but I knew it was real. I saw her. I saw her sitting there, in the chair, staring into the garden as she did countless times. I knew it had to be a dream, but it felt so real. I was staring at my grandmother. I was happy and angry at the same time. Happy I could see her but angry that she even dared to leave me. But she just turned to me and smiled as if she knew. Tears streamed down my face as I went to her and I just held her and told her I didn’t understand. She was here, alive but my diary. The diary was on my nightstand meaning she couldn’t be.

All she said was ,‘Ah, so you got my gift I see. Come on, let’s go for a walk’.

The rest of the day happened exactly as I had remembered it. It was strange. Because it felt as if I lived it before, but I couldn’t possibly have lived it. We walked through the garden and we spoke. We sat by the lake as I listened to her stories of her childhood and all her adventures and her many suitors. I remembered these stories, but I don’t know how. I remembered this day, but I can’t say why. And as the day came to a close and I went up to my room I opened my little black book and I saw – I had written it all. Everything about this day was written in my diary. The page saved, with my bookmark.

My hands were shaking so much I dropped the diary on the floor. And when I picked it up, I saw her. Staring up at me from the garden with a smile on her face. And that’s when I knew. For the first time I understood everything we had ever spoken about. But it wasn’t possible. It’s not possible to relive a day. It’s not possible that the things that I write can happen again.

And in the strangest way, it all made sense. My grandmother always spoke as if she lived each day on purpose. She spoke as if everything that happened, every encounter, every conversation, was hers for the choosing. As if fate did not exist but instead the universe bent instinctively by her design. Suddenly the words she wrote in her letter came back to me.

‘Write down everything. The best and the worst days and leave no detail out’.

I don’t know where she got this book and I don’t know why she chose to give it to me but one thing I do know. My grandmother gave me a gift. A gift far greater than anything I could have ever received.

That day I held the diary close to my heart and I watched her, walking through her garden and I whispered,

‘Carpe Diem, Grandma.”