…all these scenarios where Granddaddy never really died, and that he’s back. And they phase me so much.
We were at Grammy’s house.
She had cleared out the garage, installed a fireplace with couches surrounding it.
But she was asking if we thought Granddaddy would like it.
He died in 2004.
But he hadn’t – she was explaining.
So Deanna, Mom, and I sat on the bench of a picnic table to the side of the room (no, that doesn’t make sense. It’s a dream. Irrelevant.). Grammy’s hovering, facing the door. (the door’s to our right.)
And we’re all just waiting for him to come home.
And there he is – he just walks right through the door in his coat, smiling, and is just talking about his day like he hasn’t even been gone for the past 5 years (I’m counting it to be 2011, because it’s December).
Deanna stands up – not excitedly, just normally – and goes and helps him with his coat, and hugs him.
But I’m paralyzed.
I can’t even say hello,
or even “look how much taller I’ve grown since you last saw me.”
Or look at him, really.
All I can do is hold my hand over my face,my eyes squinted shut as tightly as possible,
One of those cries that you do in a room with thin walls that you don’t want anyone to hear.
And your mascara is in all of your tears and going into your eyes and stinging you.
And the shock that I sink into won’t let me stop.