Everyone is having a rough time right now and I’m trying to block out not the funeral, but the moment last week.
when my grandmother ran to, and then alongside, her twin’s bed, headed to the ER, to the tiny room, to the casket I saw today.
As she ran to the bed, she held a piece of copy paper we took from the vacant receptionist saying I LOVE YOU SISTER. and her cries repeated the sentence. With each Sister, she cried, to a hearing, but non-responsive body and I felt the family peeling away.
And I cried after the service, when we were all lined up in the foyer, witnessing the parade of black clothes.
I’ve never had a sister, or a twin, but I felt myself cracking and stretched to the place my grandmother sat, the way her eyes didn’t smile and didn’t need to. She complimented my green dress, the one she picked out for me that one time. But all I could think about were the pictures of them together, Joyce and Cloyce, with matching names, and even outfits(until college when their wardrobes changed), talking every day.
And how my grandfather dated Cloyce first, but how her disdain for him as an adult, faded and they grew close, as families should.
And how Cloyce never needed to dye her hair, barely graying at 85, Joyce was silver as long as I remember. And how the first hated drive-throughs but the second thought parking to get a senior discount cup of coffee on the way to the city was silly.
And this year my grandmother’s cake will have only one name on it and one candle to blow out.
And it’s so dramatic of me but I just can’t stop.
There. Just for now.