Sunday, November 16, 2008

My Toenails Are Green

or, Grief Is A Funny Thing

My grandma died almost four years ago (it was a few days after Christmas), and a few months ago if you'd asked me if I was still sad I would have said no. I mean, three and a half years is a long time. Right?

Sometime I want to write about Grandma at length here (perhaps on her birthday, which is in a month) but for now I'll just include a few facts.

One: She loved purple. Like, seriously loved purple. Like, just about everything she owned was some shade of purple. So when she died instead of getting a black dress, I got a very pretty lavendar blouse (this was all my mother's idea, it wasn't just me being weird).

A few weeks ago I was home for Fall Break and noticed this blouse hanging up in my closet and thought it was pretty. So I took it back to school with me and wore it to household inductions that night and the whole time there was a little bit of the back of my mind thinking that the last time I wore that blouse was at my grandmother's funeral. Now that I think of it, I think that was the first time I'd worn anything purple since my grandmother's funeral.

Another thing about Grandma: She liked nail polish. A lot. She had baskets full of those little bottles of it and I cannot tell you how many hours of my childhood and early adolescence were spent sitting on the floor of her apartment with newspapers strewn about, painting my nails a variety of colors, sometimes more than one color (I think once for Christmas I alternated between green and red).

Last night I had just gotten off the phone with Scott and was going to fill up my water bottle at the drinking fountain (because my mother told me that the drinking fountain is filtered, not nasty Steubenville water) when I passed the room of two of my household sisters. A third was sitting on the floor, painting the nails of one of the other two. She asked if I wanted my nails done. I made a few excuses.

A few minutes later I wandered in to say goodnight and she asked if I was sure I didn't want my nails done. So I consented to having my toenails painted Servant green (I will never call it teal again, methinks). And I spend the rest of the night remembering, and being a little sad.

Maybe next time I'll have her do purple toenails.

1 comment:

Dernhelm said...

Megan, those are some beautiful thoughts, and I am glad you shared them. While it may certainly be true that you are not actively mourning your Grandmother, I think there is nothing abnormal about missing her in little parts of your day for the very rest of your life. And I wouldn't be surprised if she was there in spirit encouraging you to get your toes painted. ;)