Remember What She Told You

Dear Self,

When she got her diagnosis, Grandma Harriet said, “I’ll always be with you, even when I’m gone.” You might not believe that at this moment—not with the wounds so fresh in your mind—but in time, you will find the strength to believe it again.

Right now, you’re feeling lost in the aftermath of Grandma’s death. Right now, with the funeral done and the care-giving responsibilities having been lifted from your shoulders, it’s hard to imagine where to go next. Hopefully this letter finds you well enough that you’ll have the courage to move on, and find a way to open the doors that have closed on you in the last several months.

Things to do now that it’s all over—an extensive list:

Tuesday.

Log into your accounts, and double-check to make sure the inheritance money from Grandma is all there. Then go to the bank and purchase a new checkbook.

Take Raquel out for ice cream (your daughter has always been fond of banana milkshakes).

Drop off Raquel with your father, give her a kiss, and tell her you’ll be back on Friday. She’ll probably cry, but that’s par for the course. Don’t let it sway you.

Hand Dad the card with a check for ten grand enclosed. Don’t stick around to see his reaction when he finds it. He’ll just refuse to take the money, so your not being there is for the best for now. You can talk to him about it when you return on Friday if need be.

After saying your goodbyes to Raquel and Dad, head to the cemetery where Grandma Harriet is buried. Try not to cry as you tell her thanks for the inheritance. Tell her you wish she hadn’t died so painfully—that she was nothing short of a saint, and saints don’t deserve to die in pain. Try not to cry as you thank her for all that she did for you, that she stepped into the role of motherhood at a time when your Dad was working two jobs to take care of his kids and your real mother was drinking herself to death. Tell Grandma you were just trying to return the favor for all of the time she spent taking care of you, and you wish you’d done a better job of taking care of her, too.

Remember what she told you after she got her diagnosis: “Don’t mourn my death; celebrate my life.”

Go home. Take a shower.

Cry, because you won’t be able to help it.

Open the bottle of wine you got from the gas station on the way home from the cemetery. Drink until you can’t think anymore.

Wednesday.

Go see that new Chris Hemsworth movie you’ve been putting off watching. Invite Britney and Anastasia to watch it with you, because you haven’t seen them since Grandma’s diagnosis last year. This may be the only good thing you’ll do all day, so enjoy it with friends.

After the movie, it’s time to visit your useless ex-husband. Don’t bother giving Brian advanced warning that you’re coming over, in case he tries to hide something from you. Show up unannounced.

Brace yourself. He’s been out of rehab for two months, but he’s probably relapsed already. Go see him anyway.

Maybe he’s changed for the better. Sometimes miracles do happen.

Tell Brian you’re happy to see him, even though you’re not. Let him invite you in, but when he does, stay close to the exit. You know how unpredictable he can be.

Ask him how he’s doing. Wait for his response, even though you don’t care.

Tell him about Grandma Harriet’s passing. He won’t care, but he’ll insist that he does, and he’ll ask why you didn’t tell him sooner.

This is the hard part: Hand him a check for a thousand bucks. Tell him you got a bonus at work and you wanted to help him with rent. Don’t tell him it’s from the inheritance; he’ll just come up with a sob story and try to pry some more money out of you (once an addict, always an addict). Tell him this is the last time you’re going to see him. He’ll ask why, but you don’t need to tell him. Say simply, “Enjoy the last gift I’ll ever give you.”

Try to make a graceful exit, knowing that he’s probably going to ask about Raquel. If he does, say that she’s doing well, and nothing more. If he throws the “I want to see my daughter” line at you for the thousandth time, remind her of why he can’t—but be sure to leave the front door open in case he gets angry and you need to run away.

Leave Brian’s, vowing to never have anything to do with him again.

Remember Grandma Harriet’s advice: “Don’t waste your time picking through rotten apples.”

Pick up another bottle of wine—a dry wine this time, not the Cupcake shit you got last night. Then go to the hotel on Seventh and Snider and tell your Tinder match (his name is Ted, right?) to meet you there at eight. Share a drink and banter until it’s time for sex. After that’s done, make up some excuse to leave, because you don’t really want to be around anyone, you just wanted to relieve some stress.

Go back home and take a shower. Finish the wine. Maybe watch another Chris Hemsworth movie while you’re at it.

Cry as needed.

Sleep until noon.

Thursday.

You probably didn’t sleep in until noon like you planned. Probably you woke up around six AM because of your whirling mind. Maybe you cried. Doesn’t matter. Get your ass out of bed and make coffee.

Around mid-afternoon, drive across town to see Marshall. He’ll be expecting you. He won’t be expecting you to split the inheritance with him—he’s a humble older brother—but that’s exactly what you’re going to do, since he was the only other person to help take care of Grandma in her final days.

When Marshall opens the front door, exchange light banter. Ask about his wife Joanna. Ask how his kiddos Leo and Violet are doing in school. Enjoy the banter, because he’s the only one you feel you can really talk to anymore.

Once he invites you inside, thank him for helping Grandma feel comfortable. Thank him for being a supportive brother and grandson. Then, hand him the check. He’ll want to push back, especially when he sees the amount, but tell him your decision is not up for debate, so he might as well take the money. He’ll want to hand the check back to you. Don’t let him. He deserves every penny.

He’ll ask what you’re going to do next. Tell him you’re planning to travel with Raquel over summer vacation, that you want to show her the west coast states because she’s learning about Oregon and Washington in Geography class and wants to see all of the rain.

Tell him you miss Grandma (and try not to cry about it this time).

Tell him you’re going to visit with Charlene next. He may offer to go with you, but politely decline his offer, because it’s something you should do on your own.

Give your brother a hug and schedule a lunch date with him on a weekend.

When that’s all done, go see Charlene. You won’t want to, but you need to. She’s your only baby sister, after all. Grandma Harriet always said, “Charlene’s a spitfire, but we love her anyway, don’t we?”

Charlene being the more belligerent of your siblings, she’ll be more difficult to talk to. Likely, she’ll try slamming the door in your face before she’ll talk to you. Have patience. You know she’s always been a hothead.

If you make it so far as to hand Charlene the check, she’ll say something snarky like, “Is this sympathy money or some shit?” Charlene always wants to have the last word. She’ll say something to make you feel guilty like, “You weren’t the only one who loved Grandma, you know. I could have helped if you’d just asked me.”

Remind her that you did ask for her help in caring for Grandma in her final months, and Charlene refused, opting instead to go out and party every night. Remind her that she stubbornly avoided returning your phone calls and texts while Grandma’s cancer and dementia took over. Inform her as calmly as you can that Grandma didn’t give her any of the inheritance because Charlene never did a damned thing for anyone unless she could get something out of it for herself.

From there, she might throw a fit. She might break down and cry. Whatever she does, it’s designed to make you feel guilty. Push the guilt back onto her. Tell her that the check is in fact “sympathy money,” and Charlene had better not say you never did anything for her after this.

Breathe. Remember to breathe as Charlene is slinging hateful words at you now as you walk back to your car.

Drive away, and don’t ever go back to Charlene’s again. God knows she won’t want to see you after this anyway.

Message your Tinder match again—his name’s Ted, right?—and tell him to meet you at the same hotel. He might not want to because of how hastily you left the previous night, but you have other matches—another one named… Antonio?

Go back to the hotel and have sex with Antonio. Try to forget your grief. Drown in it your body’s desires. Bring some wine along. Ted liked the wine, so why shouldn’t Antonio?

Leave in a hurry, telling him that you have a lot on your plate tomorrow. Let him get butt-hurt at your departure; you won’t have to see him ever again.

Go home. Shower. Cry. Repeat the last step as needed until sleep is on your doorstep.

Friday.

Make coffee, and be sure to spike it with some of the whiskey that’s been sitting untouched in your cabinet for months. Today’s going to be a tough one, so prepare yourself.

After you’ve gotten buzzed enough, make the phone call to your mother. Say you want to meet her at Grandma’s gravesite. She might try to give you ninety-nine reasons why she can’t, but don’t back down. Insist that she meet you there at noon. She’ll cave eventually, especially if you give her no other choice.

At noon, go back to the cemetery. Wait for mom. Watch her car pull up. Observe how her wispy gray hair and saggy skin somehow make her look older than Grandma. Notice the absence of a smile on Mom’s face as she carefully avoids your gaze and looks down at Grandma’s grave. See her loose a few tears for effect. Don’t cry with her.

Now’s the time to ask her the questions that have been plaguing your mind. You’ll want to hesitate. But remember what Grandma always said: “Best to be direct before you’re consumed by illusions. Honesty finds its way out eventually.”

Ask why Mom never visited Grandma as she grew sicker and sicker. Ask why she left the care-giving up to you and Marshall. Ask why she didn’t come to the funeral.

Wait for her response. This is unknown territory for you, so be prepared for anything, and take whatever she says with a grain of salt. You know how good she is at lying.

After she’s had her say, tell her in no uncertain terms that she was an awful mother to you and your siblings. She chose the bottle over parenting, just like Brian did. Tell her it’s no wonder you walked into a relationship with him; you were just living what you were modeled by the person tasked with protecting you as a child.

Tell her Grandma Harriet was a better mother to you than your own mother ever was.

She might scream at you. She might just sob.

Tell her you still love her. Tell her you can write her a check, because you don’t want to leave her stranded. Let her refuse or accept your offer.

Tell her you’d like to meet her for coffee sometime. (Scratch that; you don’t really want to.)

Give your mother a hug. She’ll need it—and so will you.

Then, go back to your car and leave her there to mourn her dead mother.

Go to the bank, set up a trust fund for Raquel.

Go back to Dad’s and pick up your daughter. Tell Raquel you missed her. Embrace her like you’ve never hugged another soul in your life, because you never know when the last time will be.

Listen to Dad tell you all the reasons he can’t accept your money, then let him know it’s the least you can do, since he’s the one who raised you when Mom wouldn’t. Give him a hug and tell him you love him.

Take Raquel to get another banana milkshake.

When you get home, dump whatever wine and whiskey is left down the drain, delete your Tinder account, and spend time with Raquel. Be a good mother, knowing that every child deserves one.

Curl up on the couch with blankets and popcorn and watch a movie with Raquel. Laugh with her. Enjoy her youthful curiosity, because one day she’ll grow up and you’ll miss this.

Then tuck her into bed and sit alone in the living room with your newfound sobriety.

Take out a picture of Grandma.

Cry because she’s gone. Cry because you’re not God and couldn’t save her life.

No. Smile. Remember the life she lived, and know that you did the best you could for the woman who did her best for you.

When you go to sleep, remember her fondly, and hope you’ll be a good mother to Raquel like Grandma Harriet was to you.

Kiss the photo of the only saint you’ve ever known.

Then, try to remember what she told you: “I’ll always be with you, even when I’m gone.”