A Hug Goodbye

A bit of jiggling and some muscle to lift the knob and click. I heard the deadbolt slide like a vault. A ton of strength is needed for this old door. Old door, old home, old memories. 

The antique door on its own held memories. When I was so tiny that I clutched onto my crocheted toy bunny for comfort, I would trace the grooves of the sunflowers etched into the wood, waiting to be greeted by hugs and promises of cookies.

When I was in middle school and had to stay with Gran while I was sick because Mom had to work, I remember leaning against the cold of the smooth, oak, waiting for the chance to lie down.

And then there was that crazy night when I thought I knew everything and got drunk and amazingly made it here alive. This door held me up, just like the people inside. The hangover and lectures could not tarnish my love for this place.

All of those times, I was anxious to go inside. Now, I enjoyed the texture and scent of this wood because I was afraid.

"Just do it fast, like swallowing nasty medicine," Gran always advised.

I opened the door and realized Mom was right. It was best to come by now. The house still smelled like Gran's vanilla candles and the fresh laundered smell of the throw blankets she kept on the couch. It still felt safe and like a second home.

Some light peaked in through the cracks of the curtains but for the most part, the room was dark, only showing the silhouettes of objects and furniture. 

I wished I was there for a visit. This felt off, stopping by without a visit.

I needed a visit, one more. So, I started the kettle and found Gran's collection of teas. The citrus and spice ones were always my favorite, and I could smell the cinnamon even before the hot water touched it. Two of her mugs were my favorite, both round and deep with a frog peeking out from the bottom of one and Loch Ness reaching out from the bottom of the other. The tea always made them look like they were swimming. Especially on the days when I was sick, I loved staring these two pets down.

Might as well fill them both up. After all, I'm visiting.

The whistle of the kettle sang, and I prepared the tea. I held the warmth to my chest and smelled the mixture of orange, cloves and cinnamon, hoping it would sooth my pain and guilt. 

Warmth spread along my shoulder and a felt a squeeze, like a hand comforting me. "I don't deserve to feel better," I admitted to the empty space.

"I don't understand why," I heard her voice in my head, "What could you have done that was so terrible?"

"I was selfish," I confessed, "that's why I didn't make it home on time."

"I seem to remember you being late for a lot of things. It never ended the world," her voice whispered.

"It feels like the world ended this time," I said.

"I'm guessing you would have felt like the world was ending even if you made it home on time. I know you loved me a lot," she assured me.

The warmth on my shoulder spread to both arms and felt like the beginning of the hugs Gran would give me when she would catch me in the kitchen burning my latest baking creation, or drawing on myself instead of my art pad, or coloring my hair with cranberry juice. I started to feel the warmth and love of her hug and I stood up and shook it off. I screamed to myself, "Stop it. You don't get to imagine her forgiving you. You don't deserve it. You should have gotten on a plane the minute you found out. You don't deserve forgiveness. I don't deserve forgiveness. I should have been here."

The kitchen was quiet, and I regretted it immediately. Even if it was a dream or my imagination, it felt real, and I wanted her here. I wanted her back again.

I sat still, sipped the tea, and tried so hard to feel her again.

I waited...and waited...and then her voice came back, "Are you done yelling?"

I burst out laughing and crying at the same time, "Yes."

"Good," she said, and I felt her hug with the strength she used when I was little. A full-on bear hug she called it. I reached up like I used to and could have sworn I felt her arms and hands. That soft, silky skin that comes with age. Gran continued, "There is no need to forgive you because there is nothing to forgive."

"I was a terrible child and a nightmare of a teenager. I was constantly challenging my teachers and there were so many times when you had to help me," I admitted.

"You were spirited, like me. You grew up living life big. I loved that about you. You were and are so easy to love," she told me.

I leaned into her hug, "You were easy to love too, Gran."

We stayed there for a while and yet it would never be long enough.

Then she mentioned, "I know your mom told you to pick out what you wanted to remember me from this house. I'm guessing those teacups are on the top of your list."

I laughed, "Surprising, huh?"

"Ah, not really, I remember you playing with them. I have something else that you should have, something that proves you are indeed like me."

"I'm on pins and needles," I joked.

"Under the silverware is an envelope that is hidden," she directed.

I went into the silverware drawer and moved items around back and forth until I felt a crease in the eighties style, flowery contact paper of the drawer and peeled it back. In the lining of the contact paper was the envelope.

Confusion filled me, "I don't remember ever seeing this. I didn't know this was here."

"Because I'm good at hiding things. Look inside," Gran urged.

Photos discolored from age showed images of a young, wild Gran celebrating New Year's Eve while hanging onto a young Grandpa for support while holding her high heels, Gran covered in grease while learning how to fix a car, and Gran burning...

"Are you burning your bra?" I exclaimed.

Her laugh exploded and I wished I could bottle that sound. "Yep. I was wild and a rebel. I hope you'll continue the tradition."

The breath I took felt like I was waiting for an entire week to breathe. I was surrounded by love and peace.

I got lucky. I got to say goodbye.

"Thank you for being my Gran."

Author's note: I only got to meet one of my grandparents and she never wanted me around. I have seen other people have strong relationships with their grandparents and it fascinates me. I often wonder what it would be like to have a grandma who loved me like Gran loves her grandchild.