Grieving is a funny thing. That might sound ridiculous, but it's true.
My grandma has been in and out of the hospital for several weeks, maybe longer. Right now, she's not my grandma. She's just a vessel for sickness who only looks like my grandma. Somewhere inside is the Grandma Darling I know-- the one who held me as a baby, ate cabbage with my mom and Aunts while I dipped slices of hot dog into mashed potatoes, the one who makes the world's best Angel Food Cake, the one and only Bingo master, and the one filled with wisdom and a capacity to deliver a hug like no one else.
So why is grieving so funny? After all, that last paragraph is rather heart-wrenching.
Well, upon hearing about the latest turn of events with my Grandma, I pulled into a drive-thru at a nearby Fazolis-- they have the best Mr. Pibb in town. I really needed one... I think I might be addicted, literally. Elizabeth (Yes, that's how often I go there--I know their names, and they know me.) opened the window, and sweetly said, "I was told to give you this for free." I thanked her, drove off... and I lost it. A free Mr. Pibb sent me over the edge. Mind you, I was on the verge before the free Mr. Pibb, but the smallest gesture turned me into a ball of tears and snot. I'm sure it all would have eventually came out, but like I said grieving is a funny thing. The smallest thing can trigger a breakdown, even a free Mr. Pibb in a yellow Styrofoam cup.
The best part about all of this? If Grandma Darling could hear (or comprehend-- they say morphine is good stuff) this story, she would smile, laugh, and, as always, say something wise.
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