![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
May. 31st, 2003 08:02 pmI'm going out of town, starting tomorrow. I probably won't update my journal much, though I'll try to check your journals everyday from the place we are staying. I probably won't answer my email for a few weeks either. This had been planned, only planned for June 16, not tomorrow. This is all very last minute. I've packed myself and Alex. Amazing, how much luggage a toddler requires. I used to travel by myself and be gone for two or three weeks at a time, and all I'd need was a backpack. Just one backpack and I could fit a weeks worth of clothes, a few books, a handfull of cds, my discman, two or three notebooks, a couple of pens, my medication, and all my toiletries. All of it in just that one backpack. Now I have one backpack for my clothes, one for Alex's. I've got a diaper bag for the diapers, wipes, and diaper rash cream. I've got another diaper bag with bibs, plastic plates, plastic bowls, toddler silverware, a few bottles, sippy cups, and some pacifiers. I've got a bag with some videos for her, my books, my notebooks, pens, my medicine, her medicine, her colouring notebook, crayons, our toiletries, sunscreen, her floaties, and our swimsuits. I've got a milk crate of stuffed animals, toys, and books for Alex. All of this for a two day car ride to Washington DC, probably a week, maybe two, there, and the two day car ride back. And that's just our stuff. That's not even the stuff my parents are bringing. That's at least two suitcases, probably three (two big ones for clothes and a small one for toiletries), and a cooler. Plus the fold-up stroller. And we'll be able to do laundry while we are there. We are staying with close friends, family only not by blood. I've known them since I was born. My parents have known them since before I was born, when my sister was about Alex's age. They have two daughters, one my age and one a year younger than my sister. The daughter my age has been closer than my own sister since long before I can remember. It'll be good to see them again, but under bad circumstances that we are going on such short notice.
My grandmother is dying. She's been going for awhile, but the nursing home called my mother today and said this is it. This is the end. She's got a few days left so we'd better hurry. And so we scrambled today to pack up what we needed and we are leaving as early as possible tomorrow morning. It's a two day drive, pushing it, from Houston to Germantown, Maryland (just north of Washington, DC). And we'll be doing this with an almost 2 year old in the car, so it may take 2 and 1/2 days. The doctor told my mother that Nanny might not make it until we get there. We're hoping she holds on long enough to see us one last time and to meet Alex for her first and last time.
I keep wanting to cry, but I can't. I have to hold myself together. If I get upset, Alex will get upset. She's too little to understand what's going on. And I have to be strong for my mother. She needs me right now. She's an only child so she's been doing this all by herself for the past two or three years. She needs my help more than ever, and I have to be able to give her that support. It's just really hard right now. Nanny is the only grandmother I have. The ONLY one. Both my grandfathers died long before I was born... long before even my sister was born. My father's mother died when I was 3 months old. She got to hold me, her last grandchild, right before she died (right when she died, actually, long story for another time). But I don't remember her. I have seen a few blurry pictures and heard stories about her, but I don't remember her. Nanny... well... Nanny has been here my whole life. I remember Christmas' at her apartment, and how her tree always had tinsel on it while ours didn't. I thought it was so pretty, sparkling with the bright big lights and all that tinsel shining like stars. I remember how she was as mean as my mom and made me eat my asparagus, but if we had brussel sprouts, she'd let me leave them on my plate and never say a word. I remember jelly bean hunts at Easter... she'd always leave huge piles in the easiest places. And she'd pick out the black and yellow jelly beans because she knew we didn't like them. She'd always exchange mine for chocolate after the hunt, because I didn't like jelly beans in the first place. I remember she always had pussywillows in a pot by her door, and when you walked into her apartment, it smelled like no other place I've ever been. I miss that smell. It'll be strange, going into the nursing home. It won't smell like her. It'll smell like piss and bleach, like all nursing homes do. I remember making chocolate chip cookies with her, and how she never made them with my mother, but loved making them with my sister and me. I remember how she would complain that I always wore jeans. "Little girls should wear dresses. Pants are for little boys." she'd always say that. I remember scrabble and how we'd spend all Sunday over there when the Redskins were playing a game. We knew she was going to die before too long. I've been preparing myself for the past two years. It was always "Nanny doesn't have much longer. We'll get a call soon." But the call didn't come. For two years it didn't come. And I thought I was ready. But the call came today and I'm not. I'm not ready to say goodbye. I don't want her to leave yet. I want her to get to know Alex, to see her grow some. I'm not ready. I don't want her to die.
My grandmother is dying. She's been going for awhile, but the nursing home called my mother today and said this is it. This is the end. She's got a few days left so we'd better hurry. And so we scrambled today to pack up what we needed and we are leaving as early as possible tomorrow morning. It's a two day drive, pushing it, from Houston to Germantown, Maryland (just north of Washington, DC). And we'll be doing this with an almost 2 year old in the car, so it may take 2 and 1/2 days. The doctor told my mother that Nanny might not make it until we get there. We're hoping she holds on long enough to see us one last time and to meet Alex for her first and last time.
I keep wanting to cry, but I can't. I have to hold myself together. If I get upset, Alex will get upset. She's too little to understand what's going on. And I have to be strong for my mother. She needs me right now. She's an only child so she's been doing this all by herself for the past two or three years. She needs my help more than ever, and I have to be able to give her that support. It's just really hard right now. Nanny is the only grandmother I have. The ONLY one. Both my grandfathers died long before I was born... long before even my sister was born. My father's mother died when I was 3 months old. She got to hold me, her last grandchild, right before she died (right when she died, actually, long story for another time). But I don't remember her. I have seen a few blurry pictures and heard stories about her, but I don't remember her. Nanny... well... Nanny has been here my whole life. I remember Christmas' at her apartment, and how her tree always had tinsel on it while ours didn't. I thought it was so pretty, sparkling with the bright big lights and all that tinsel shining like stars. I remember how she was as mean as my mom and made me eat my asparagus, but if we had brussel sprouts, she'd let me leave them on my plate and never say a word. I remember jelly bean hunts at Easter... she'd always leave huge piles in the easiest places. And she'd pick out the black and yellow jelly beans because she knew we didn't like them. She'd always exchange mine for chocolate after the hunt, because I didn't like jelly beans in the first place. I remember she always had pussywillows in a pot by her door, and when you walked into her apartment, it smelled like no other place I've ever been. I miss that smell. It'll be strange, going into the nursing home. It won't smell like her. It'll smell like piss and bleach, like all nursing homes do. I remember making chocolate chip cookies with her, and how she never made them with my mother, but loved making them with my sister and me. I remember how she would complain that I always wore jeans. "Little girls should wear dresses. Pants are for little boys." she'd always say that. I remember scrabble and how we'd spend all Sunday over there when the Redskins were playing a game. We knew she was going to die before too long. I've been preparing myself for the past two years. It was always "Nanny doesn't have much longer. We'll get a call soon." But the call didn't come. For two years it didn't come. And I thought I was ready. But the call came today and I'm not. I'm not ready to say goodbye. I don't want her to leave yet. I want her to get to know Alex, to see her grow some. I'm not ready. I don't want her to die.
