So, I didn't really sleep well after the news of Grandma Ruth's passing. I went to work and when I got there, we were practicing resuscitation techniques. So that was pretty much a disaster. I got really dizzy and almost fainted, so Clara, my supervisor, took me aside. I explained to she and Aude (my real boss) the situation. Right away, they told me to take today off, and take it day by day as to when I can work again. Without me asking, Aude told me that it is a definite option to return to the U.S., but that it's my choice and try won't advise me either way.
My mom sent me a Skype video message at around 11 their time and officially told me. Joey was crying quietly in the background and it broke my heart. They don't know when they'll hold the funeral as Wednesday is too soon (only one day in the obituary), Thursday my cousin's wife is getting induced, Friday Bethany leaves for Italy (leaving Saturday out of the question). My thoughts are "what about me? You would move the funeral around for everyone but not me?" That's irrational, I know, as I'm across an ocean. But still, I'm not very rational when it comes to those I love.
I don't know why this is so hard this time around. My face is raw from crying. As cliché as it is, I miss her so much already. I can't stand the thought of never having her kiss my cheek again or never helping her address her Christmas cards (which she sent out every single year, even after my grandpa Arvo died).
My heart is also grieving paris. I can't loose this city yet. How can I possibly leave, and how can I possibly stay? I'm reminded of my grandma everywhere here. Apparently last Friday, she went to city creek with my aunt Laura like they did every week. My grandma didn't want to pay for parking, so she bought some more Chanel perfume to put on her dressing table. Typical Ruth. I keep on thinking about that table with all of the jewelry (how are they going to get off her wedding ring? Who will inherent it? I swear if it's Bethany, I will scream). Her taste was very Parisian.
The flower stands, the children with their socks falling down, the boats along the seine. She would've loved all of it.
The church bells are especially piercing.
She always found beauty in the smallest of things. Even though she was so alone. She kept ice cream in her freezer, just as a treat for herself.
I'm not handling being alone very gracefully today. Yet, everything seems sharper, like I'm seeing paris for her, even like I am her, because she's more than with me, she is me.
In Starbucks they're playing my favorite song of all time, "for Emma." It always feels like it's for just for me, except this time it's for her. Everyone takes it as a song about a failed relationship; but it's more.
"Saw death on a sunny snow"
"Seek the light...my knees are cold"
"For all your lies, you're still very lovable"
"I toured the light
So many foreign roads
For Emma, forever ago."
It's about the complexity of loss. About stretching beyond time and definition and newness and being both warm and cold. It's about how no love ever truly leaves us and about how no love is ever perfect.
It seems fitting that paris is here to be with me during my sadness. I've been so alone here. Just like how no matter what anyone says, we are alone in our sadness, even until the end.
Saying that, I wish that I was there, to walk in her house, to run my fingers over her tubes of lipstick, to see the photograph I have of her in my London lunchbox when she was my age.
Plus que jamais,
Emily
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