what i learned from my grandmother

The day my grandmother died, I laced up a pair of old running shoes and stepped outside to dig. Her death made my hands long for the earth. I dug around old weeds that had spent months rooting themselves deep into the soil. I dug around them and as the misty rain fell, I felt only calm and mud and sadness. My grandmother was a sad woman. She was always fun to be with, but just below the surface, she carried a great sadness. Even as a child, I felt it, though, I never did ask her about it. My grandfather fell off of a ladder and died suddenly. It seemed to me that after that day, she too, had fallen. And, I'm not sure she was ever able to stand again.

I still remember the feeling of the wet soil mixing with tears. I only cried a few times because I knew she wasn't suffering anymore and that made me happy. But, selfishly, I knew I wasn't ready to say goodbye to her. We had been lifelong penpals and I knew that habit would die hard. I still find myself reaching for postcards to send her when I'm out of town, and then pulling my hand back in surprise when I remember she's gone. She won't ever get another postcard.

Every spring, I remember the mud and the weeds and the rainy Easter morning that she died. I remember yanking at roots until I lost my balance and fell into the concrete. I remember the regret my grandmother felt when she realized she was dying, but hadn't done all the things she'd hoped because her life had somehow frozen and moved slower after my grandfather's death. I remember her because I want to learn from her. So, I joined the Peace Corps. I moved to New York. I went to grad school. And, when someone tells me that my time has come or when I come to realize it myself, I don't want that shadowed look to cross my eyes. I don't want to feel the regret that comes from knowing it's too late. I always want the soil to be in my fingernails and life to be growing nearby.