Last night I dreamt of my grandmother. She is my only living grandparent, and she is not doing well. By some miracle she is still with us, surviving a long illness which had her poised on the brink of crossing over two years ago. Since, she has been residing in a nursing home, and we have been blessed that although her body has turned traitor, her mind has remained sharp and she is still my Memiere. However, I’m worrying for her in my gut in a way that I did not worry for her two years ago when the doctors had us calling in the Priest for Last Rites.
Mister and I spent a couple of hours visiting with her yesterday, and I was reluctant to leave when the time came. Having her on my mind throughout the day, led to dreams of her last night. It was as though my mind was a book, flipping pages through my memories….
The memories that I woke up holding onto actually made me chuckle. My Memiere has always had a knack for twisting normal, well-known idioms into some slightly bizarre saying that fits a situation all the better. We call them “Memiere-isms”….
“When the pot calls the kettle a son of a bitch it can expect to get burned.”
“Don’t put too many eggs in a small basket.”
“You can’t have your cake and chew gum at the same time.”
“You’re biting off more than you can chew and if you don’t choke on it first you’ll throw it up later.”
I’ve only scratched the surface with a few examples of her “wisdom.” I’ll tell you, as bizarre as they sound, she always manages to say just the thing you needed to hear. I am grateful for every bit of wisdom she has shared with me in her own unique way, and I am grateful for the very large hand she had (and used!) in my upbringing. I will cherish the rest of my time with her here, and hope that my gut is way, way off this time. I still need her.