My Grandma and Me

My Grandma had black hair. And olive skin. And fuzz above her lip.
I do too.

My Grandma seemed Sad most of the time. Not a crying Sad. Or a “leave me alone” Sad.
It was a Sad that could not find its own words. It just went with her wherever she went.
Which was about a total of 100 feet. From her couch to her kitchen. She sat with her Sadness in both places.

She didn’t seem to want to rid herself of Sad. She wore it like an old comfortable sweater.
Sometimes she would smile. She was kind and loving. She didn’t have a mean Sad. And when she would smile I almost thought she might laugh. But I don’t remember her ever doing that. She must have…but I don’t have an image for that stored up in my brain anywhere.

My Grandma never quit, I don’t think. She just settled. Settled in. Settled for. There are times now, looking back, putting pieces together, I realize she must have been angry too. She had plenty of reasons. The story goes that her father was from Lebanon or Syria, one of those far off deserty places.

My grandma was first generation American. That’s why her skin was so olive…it glowed. And her hair was so black. Even when she was older…only a few streaks of gray dared to mingle in.

I don’t know how old she was when her mother died. But her father didn’t know what to do with her and her twin sister then. When I asked her about where she grew up or who raised her,
I saw her fluster and the confusion of trying to remember something she’d spent her whole life trying to forget hurt her.
I quickly told her it didn’t matter. But “did you have a dog when you were a kid?”, I asked frantic to find a way to take back the moment…she smiled then. Softened back into a comfortable memory.

I breathed again. My curiosity had hurt her. I felt bad for that.

She married young. He drank a lot. They had four children. Two boys, two girls. The girls were twins. Her husband…he drank a lot. He hurt those children. Those children have spent their whole lives trying to forget something they can’t help but remember. She must have been angry. Or fearful. Or confused. But I wonder if that is when Sad started coming around more often.

When I was about 5, there was a bad storm. I stood just outside Grandma’s house. My uncle pointed to the sky.
Sky looks bruised, he said.
When it gets all green and purple, that’s when the tornados come, he said.
We went inside.

My Grandma was upstairs in the bedroom she had shared with my Grandfather. She was a widow now. She knew the sky was bruised. She had to have heard the wind outside the window. Her ears were probably popping like mine were.

Everyone was talking in hushed, panicked voices.
She won’t come down, my aunt said.
I’ll carry her down, my uncle said.
I knelt on the couch looking out the big picture window as a tree was ripped by its roots and tossed to the ground.

I heard the sound of the back door opening. It was the preacher from my church. I felt hope. The frantic whispers turned as I asked the preacher to please go get My Grandma. We had to get in the basement. The sky was bruised.

The preacher was out driving, saw the bruised sky and stopped at my Grandmas Sad place to take shelter. Sometimes things work out just the opposite of the way you think they are supposed to.
Shouldn’t sad find solace in church?

I don’t recall now, much of the rest of the story. My Grandma did come down, with her Sad tagging along. There was an old radio in the basement. Wood-- with big glass tubes that lit up when the radio was plugged in.

To this day, I remember those large black knobs against the rich wood grain. It felt good to be in that basement with my uncle, my aunt, the preacher, and My Grandma. There were other faces there too, but I don’t recall them now.

Something about those knobs on the radio though.

If I could use those knobs to control other things. Like when my Scared came, if I could turn the buttons to the left. Turn down the sound. Turn down the strength. Or when my Angry came, or my Sad…I still think of those knobs and turn them sometimes.

My Grandma had black hair. And olive skin. And fuzz above her lip.

I do too.

My Grandma seemed Sad most of the time. Last week a storm came. I wanted the sky to look bruised. I wanted to stay in bed.