Home For a Rest

 

When I was growing up, my grandparents lived far away. I did not get to see my Grandma very much, and sadly my paternal Grandma had passed before my birth, or conception to that matter.

But my maternal Grandpa's sister lived about 2 km out of the town I grew up in. She was a short, 'plump' woman, and I am sure the phrase "She's a pistol!" was first used to describe her.

We would visit her a lot, she loved to bake - or it seemed she did, there was always something lovely to eat at her house.  There was puzzles, lego, afternoons in a quiet sun filled room that made you sleepy in all the best ways, with only the soft chime of a cuckoo clock every hour. And these doll bottles that were made of pure magic!  You tipped them and the liquid disappeared!    Whaaaat?

My Aunt Nellie was also married to the local mortician.  I used to think he was the ghost of Abraham Lincoln and that was why he was ok being around dead bodies all the time. I remember being scared to have his hands touch me because of his job, but these fears were very much unfounded. He was a kind, gentle soul, and passed much sooner than he should have and it was felt by Aunt Nellie and their 2 adult children, Peter and Mitzi.

I loved going to their house, to play, to eat, to be sleepy and to get hugs. I can still smell their house, I remember the lighting in the foyer where you put your boots and stuff on, and I remember standing there for what seemed like an eternity while my mom, Nellie and Mitzi would stand there talking for longer. I also remember thinking, why are we leaving if we aren't leaving?

In October of last year she passed away.  I can't say it was a shock. but it was a great sadness. She had been my Grandma figure for much of my life. She always had a hug for me, and a 'in your face' comment if you were doing something stupid. My sister gets that from her.

It had been years since I had seen her, as we were both living far from each other most of the time, but the connection was there over the miles. 

When others failed to wish me a Happy Birthday year after year, her and Mitzi were there, making me feel loved.

I was unable to go to her funeral, and it has never felt like closure because of it. So I did what artist's do, and I painted her a picture.