writing

my grandmother was a writer. she kept a diary her entire life and dreamed of publishing a book someday. i'd like to think that she was my influence, but unfortunately i learned this about her far too late in her life.

life is too short.

i was in college when she passed away. my parents moved back from LA when she was sick to take care of her and moved into her little house with her until the bitter end. i came home one weekend from school, and she was a different person than i remembered. she had lost her incredible memory, her wit, but she still had her passion, and her love for crossword puzzles.

i came home, which wasn't exactly home for me; but i understood why it was home at the time. and i remember how confused she was. she wasn't sure who i was. she recognized me, but she wasn't sure why. and my dad drew her a crossword puzzle with things about me (for example, down 1 was purdue, across 4 was blue--for the color of my eyes). it didn't work.

what's interesting is she did remember that i loved to write. and that was the last coherent conversation i had with her. her memory, boggled, still knew that i wanted to write. i will never forget that day - she told me she wanted me to have all of her diaries. i still don't have them because of all of the moving and confusion that happened after she was gone, but i look forward to discovering them someday.

i have the same sort of thing. i have kept a diary since i was in the sixth grade. and since the whole "blog" era, i have done this instead. it's an amazing thing to know that i'll be able to pass on my words, my life, someday after i am gone. i know it's probably a long way away, but i'm glad i've kept some sort of a legacy. i'm sure she would have said the same.

i miss you, grandma lanie. thank you for your wisdom and all that you left me with.