Mary Jane

Summer time. We see a huge decline in your health, we played skatigories in the waiting room, awaiting to hear how your surgery went. This was the summer before, in 2018.

I don’t remember. I’m sorry, my stroke took my short term memory.

You were my best friend. My aunt; my teacher, coach, mom. Grandmother. Grammy.

When you pulled through we all cheered, Before the coming social distancing.

When Aunt Colleen and You, yourself told me about the fall. I knew it was coming.

I promised not to cry while I write this one.

Sorry, too late.

I knew I was moving and you were leaving.

Things were changing. I could feel it. Ahhh, thank my gods for waterproof mascara.

I was there the whole week before hanging out. I knew. I looked at aunt Colleen.

Nodding her head with a smile.

Rubbed your feet and legs.Hands and arms. Three days before you passed you had me grab your finger. That was you telling me, I would be okay.

I moved the next day.

Moved into a seasonal rental.

Went to dinner to celebrate my move.

Unannounced, I loved It. A surprise visitor as well. We all chatted outside in the September evening.

Eating and drinking and laughing. And telling stories. I remember telling them I had been with you all week.

I told them I did not think you would make it through the week.

We talked about how resilient you were, strong, tough. Irish through and through.

The Irish mafia, a family inside joke.

The next day.

I can’t believe I’ve made it this far into this. I am crying and sobbing.

I woke up to my mom screaming and yelling, a worried tone. I knew. She said come quick.

I must have gone 90 the whole way from basically Raymond to Westbrook in like 15 minutes.

If you are a Mainer you’ll understand this.

Could not find a parking spot in the rd. Parked over the hill. Forest Street, you will always be my home.

Always, even though you’ve been sold. You’re mine. Mine.

I remember how strong Emily was.

I remember being told to watch the back door after you passed. I yelled at everyone to move their cars out of the driveway for the funeral home.

They stripped you down, with such ease, swiftly. Professionals gram. You raised us to be good and strong and love everyone who comes into our life, and when to “SHUT-UP”.

I’ll never forget them flipping you over and your limp hand fell, and all I saw were those red fingernails of yours.

The ones we would sometimes have to do like 10 times, because you couldn't stop moving, or talking. I know where we all get that from

I keep a bottle in my cabinet for the holidays. For you

I took your death hard. I still am, I lost 50 pounds. Now I’m at an okay weight for our height.

Gram, Carter and Colby have like 4 to 5 inches on me and they’re 14, I’m 33 soon. Like Larry, and Larry bird.

Thanks for not giving me the athletic gene! I'm just kidding. I wouldn’t want to change my life or my experiences with you.

Gram I know you're in the next room, waiting.

I’ll see you in the next room, when it's my time.

I’ll see you in my next life Grammy. Love you MJ.

-ei