Blood and Water

Sandra reached for her phone. It was an automatic movement, something she did hundreds of times a day in the hope of seeing something that would make her brain go, 'Ah, yes".

Today, dozens of notifications glared back at her, and her stomach twisted. Instead of sweet distraction, all she saw were reminders of the inescapable.

Barely comprehending the digital onslaught, Sandra scrolled down the list.

Cousin Amy, who lived her life via Facebook, tagging every family member she could think of in her public announcement of grief.: #sadday Fam, I just have to shar...

The cheerfully named Grandma's Funeral Planning text group with a question almost definitely directed at Sandra: Can you write the eulog...

Mother, confirming Sandra's suspicions : You are the so-called writer, Sandr...

Boss: When will you return to wo...

Ex, looking for a way back in: Is there anything I can d...

Facebook: Brian Beverton reacted to a post y...

It was too much.

She gripped her phone tightly, preparing to throw it as far as she could, not caring if she broke it, but then. . .

Angie: I am here.

A spark of something ignited, briefly, in Sandra's mind, something like gratefulness, something like relief.

Angie was always there when Sandra needed her.

As Sandra's thumb moved to select Angie's name, another message appeared.

Mother: Check on your brother, at leas...

Sandra breathed a deep sigh of frustration that sounded muffled and thick through her tear-induced snot. Her thumb continued it's journey, and Angie's message appeared on screen in all it's glory.

Angie: I am here.

<3

No pressure.

There was a reason Angie and Sandra had been friends since before they could walk. Angie cared. Really cared. When she said, "Is there anything I can do?" she meant it. In fact, she came prepared with examples to make it entirely, unambiguously clear that she wasn't just spouting nice words at you to make herself feel better, but that she was ready and able to act.

Angie never made you feel like you didn't deserve her. With Angie, there was no pretending. Sandra could just be.

Sandra: This is much harder than I thought it would be. I don't think I'm ok.

Then, on impulse, Sandra copied-pasted the message into her never-ending, never-meaningful chat with Harry.

Why not? Maybe he could be the one to check on her for a change.

Angie: Oh my friend, I am so sorry you are going through this. CoI?

CoI. Comfort or Ideas. Their private short-hand for, "What do you need from me right now? Comforting words and a place to vent, or do we need to gear up for a problem-solving marathon?"

Sandra: I don't know...

Angie: That's okay. I am writing the eulogy, fyi. You can just fix, when you're ready.

Sandra's eyes filled with fresh tears. Of course Angie was writing the eulogy. She knew the family as well as Sandra did. She knew that the eulogy would fall to Sandra, just like caring for Grandma had done, just like all the 'unpleasant' tasks that no one else wanted always did.

Most importantly, Angie knew Grandma.

Had known. She had to remember to use the past tense.

. . .as long as someone remembers you, you still exist in the world. . .

One of the last things Grandma had said in those final days. Only Sandra had been there to hear.

To remember.

Angie would help with that too.

Sandra: Thank you.

That was all she could manage. It was all that Angie needed.

Harry: Not you too! why is everyo...

The notification exploded onto her screen, Google desperate to make sure Sandra knew that a new message was waiting, isn't it nice, isn't it exciting?

She had to read it. She'd started the conversation, after all.

Harry: Not you too! Why is everyone around me so NEGATIVE?!? Focus on the positive, and positive things will appear. I don't want to think about this, and it's real unfair of you to make me. If it's not you, it's mom, nagging, pushing, yelling. . .

She couldn't read anymore. She knew how it went anyway. It was always like this, any time Harry was asked to think beyond himself. And mother just bowed to his aggression, trying to appease him in every way. Of course, that just led to angry outbursts about how everyone was always walking on eggshells around him, why were they always trying to make him feel bad? Plan my future for me, but don't ever talk to me about it. Solve my problems, but don't expect me to admit they exist. On and on and on. . .

Angie: What you doing rn?

A gentle request for information, nothing too crazy.

Sandra: Staring

In Angie/Sandra code, 'staring' meant, "I am very, very, very not okay. I'm not doing anything right now, but when I do do something, I can't guarantee that it will be good."

Angie: At what?

No panic. No judgement, never any judgement.

Angie just wanted to understand.

Sandra: Quilt

Another pop-up took over her phone screen.

Harry: And another thing, you...

Angie: Oh hun, it's going to be okay, I promise. If it's difficult, maybe put the quilt away for a while? Or if it's helping, leave it where it is. Either way, can you get up and make some tea or something?

Harry: You're JUST like dad, you always...

Angie: <3

Facebook: Kaylin Summers and 3 other people reacted to a post that you are tag...

Harry: You only think about you...

Sandra stared at her phone's screen as an endless parade of messages forced themselves forward, demanding her attention. She was frozen. Right behind her phone screen loomed the chair with it's quilt, Grandma's quilt, put aside by someone who had fully intended to return.

Angie: I can come over, if you like?

Mother: Have you checked on...

Grandma's Funeral Planning: Sandra we need an answe...

Grief, stronger than anything Sandra had felt up until that point, hit her in the stomach. Her blood ran cold. For a moment, she didn't breathe.

Grandma would never sit in that chair again, her chair, the place from which she dispensed wisdom and love to anyone who would just stop and listen. . .

. . .divorced, beheaded, died; divorced, beheaded, survived, that's how you remember the eighth Henry's wives. . .

. . .sticks and stones, my dear, sticks and stones. . .

. . .I dress in blues and pinks because those are the colors that the lilac breasted roller wears, and what's good enough for the birds is good enough for me. . .

Grandma hadn't known everything. And not everything she knew was in keeping with the times.

Harry: Or that your friends are more importan...

But what she had known she had shared, happily and willingly.

Harry: YOU'RE the one who doesn't...

Grandma had always listened, always wanted to learn more, always ready to change her mind.

Angie: Sandra?

And now she was just. . .gone.

Angie: Okay, I'm coming over.

Harry: Blood is thicker than water, you kno...

Sandra let her phone fall from her frozen hand. It landed on the carpet with a thud. She didn't know how long she sat there, staring at the quilt, her mind a tumultuous mess.

Maybe Harry was right. She did spend more time with friends than with family. It was true.

But. . .

. . .Sandra, do you know the full, original phrase?

Sandra hadn't. As always, Grandma had been ready to share.

. . .Blood is thicker than water is just the shortened version. The full thing goes: Blood of the covenant is thicker than water of the womb. It means that the bonds you choose are more significant than the ones you are born to. . .

As the almost forgotten memory surfaced, she heard Angie's key in the lock.

Right on cue, Grandma would have said with a smile.

Angie breezed in, her own face smiling gently.

Sandra hadn't noticed before, but Angie had Grandma's smile. The same face, the same look, the same kindness and care.

That wasn't blood.

"Hello, friend," said Angie as she threw her jacket on Grandma's chair to break Sandra's view of the quilt. Her eyes scanned the room, took in the dropped phone, the closed blinds, the uneaten sandwich at Sandra's side.

In two quick strides, Angie crossed the room and crouched in front of Sandra. She took both of Sandra's hands in her own. Then, in the same voice Grandma had always used in times of needs, she said:

"Cup of tea?"