Whisper words of wisdom…

Dear Grandma Nettie,

I have colors spread out all over my floor. Various shades of green, blue, orange and red. It is as though a color palette vomited on my floor. Also, I’m beginning to think I should take this soundtrack off repeat. I love these songs, but with the way I absorb music I’ve gotta insert something more upbeat. Hmm. I probably should have aimed for sunlight today. That could be it. But these colors are just so damn fascinating…

Last night I found myself asking you for guidance. I’m an eclectic spiritual person, who ranges from nihilism to Greek mythology to an odd coalescence of Abrahamic faiths and Eastern traditions. So, I like to imagine that my ancestors that have died somehow watch over the living members of the family. I, once again, felt the need for guidance and advice, and lately I haven’t been able to ask the stars for navigation.

I wasn’t particularly close to you; not as close as Courtney or some of my other cousins. One of the more standoutish memories I have is when you said my face was getting fat, probably about a year after graduation. It’s left me with a complex since (not really, at least nothing that wasn’t already there.) No, my main memory of you is this incredibly spiritual person. I have this habit of associating everyone I know with a celebrity. I always saw my mom as Oprah when I was younger; my aunt Phyllis as Whitney Houston, my Grandma Retha as Aretha Franklin, and Grandma Nettie as Mother Teresa

She was a tiny person; when I hugged her sometimes I was afraid I’d break her. We never said much to each other, besides the “How is school going?” and my grades. But she always remembered to send me a card for my birthday. Another memory I have of her is coming home from school, slightly upset that she didn’t know how things worked around the house. She was there to help out/vacation/not really sure. Michael was about to be born, so probably to help out. Retrospect makes everything suspicious. Anyways.

I had just walked home from school with an incredibly heavy backpack. It was early January, and though it was windy and slightly chilly, I felt really hot and overburdened. I came inside and started to go up the stairs. Until I got to the top and blacked out. I came to a second later at the base of the stairs, really confused and really happy I wasn’t dead. My grandmother came running around the corner, asking what happened and if I was ok. I told her I fell down the stairs. She looked me over, gave me a hug and then I headed back up the stairs. I safely made it to my bed.

Besides all these nostalgic memories of my Grandma, I caught myself last night asking her for guidance in that one department of my life I can never seem to trust myself in. I thought of what she would think of me. I know she’d love me either way. Perhaps not condone some things but support me either way.

Perhaps I thought of her because, as my emotions fluctuate between rapid highs and lows, whenever I think of that something, that something only becomes much harder to think about. That something ends up dictating my emotions. A horrible affliction for someone who seeks stability. Les choses dans la vie. I’m in search of that person who has that something, I think they’ll understand.

I was hoping the spirit of my grandmother would understand. We both had a mutual understanding. When I was in middle or high school, you told me I had a very old spirit. I like to think we were cut from the same cloth. My dad says I have your personality: the fight, the vim, the vigor, the stubbornness. I like to think my grandma had insight. Enlightenment. And saw in 4D. We also share this predisposition for habitual solitude, perhaps as time to meditate/pray/reflect on our thoughts. Anyways, though I never got to know you like other family members did, nevertheless I’m left with an amazing memory. That in itself rocks. When I find myself in times of trouble, I end up turning to your spirit. And it comforts me to know you would probably tell me right now to just let it be.