My paternal grandmother and I never shared a close bond. Circumstances and distance contributed to that; she had a far more rewarding relationship with my cousins. As a child, it was difficult to accept. She often misspelled my name on birthday cards, and during a moment of vulnerability, when my heart was broken, she casually remarked from across the room, “What did you do to deserve it?”
Unlike the doting grandparents depicted in movies, her presence at my wedding felt more like an obligation than a celebration. In hindsight, the fact that she forgot to wear her dentures is somewhat amusing, but at the time, her indifference was as tangible as the prickly lace of my veil.
I’m unsure why these memories linger so vividly. When my father informed us that she was gravely ill last week, I attempted to recall happier moments, though they weren’t shared between us. My dad reminisced about how she never missed one of his football games, and my aunts spoke fondly of her delicious pies and ravioli soup. She was a straightforward, no-nonsense woman, and I can relate to that.
Last night, I dreamt of beginnings and endings. In my dream, my grandmother visited my home—a place she had never been—embracing me in a way that felt completely new. We stood in the kitchen, my back facing the window above the sink. Although I couldn’t see it, I sensed the morning sun pouring through, warming the floor and illuminating an otherwise dim space. Our hug was awkward yet real, complemented by her smile and fleeting glances toward the window. She waved silently, and I understood that my grandfather awaited her on the other side, honking the horn of his cherished Chrysler.
This morning, I was ready to share my dream with my dad when his message arrived: “Grandma is gone. Left us around 1 a.m.”
I pondered why she chose to visit me. Perhaps it was because I write, or because people engage with my words. Maybe it was her way of assuring our family that she is finally at peace. With the finality of her passing, she might have wanted us to feel her tranquility. Or perhaps, after years of misspelling my name, she wanted me to hold onto something positive.
Everything is alright, Grandma. It truly is.
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Summary
The author reflects on her complicated relationship with her grandmother, noting memories of indifference and distance. As her grandmother falls ill, she dreams of a tender moment shared between them. After learning of her grandmother’s passing, she contemplates the meaning behind her dream and the peace it may represent.