apartment 7-A is where the heart is...

So here i am in ct. Where i was born and raised. And much like that day, i am cold and broke. But that's beside the point, because i have family.

After getting secondhand info on my grandma, and causing myself stress by obsessing over calling (or not calling)
her to see how she is, i finally got to see her today. Its really all i needed.

I was nine when my grandma had her first heart attack. We were in her room, watching animaniacs, and she called desperately for my mom. After that, it was a blur. I remember each moment up to that point when my
mother made my brother and me leave the room. staring at her not knowing what to do...having this event take place that seemed so much like the stuff on tv, only no one knew CPR or shit like that. my brother, 5 years old, kind of scared but not sure why...

After that: sleeping in my grandma's bed while she was in the hospital. i was so scared she would die, and i had to hold on to the smell of her sheets and pretend that she was holding me.

And then, the fact that she came back. Like, 'fuck a heart attack; i'm anna.' this is the woman who had 14 kids, three of whom died. she broke both her legs falling down stairs doing laundry. she was excommunicated for getting a divorce, and lost my grandpa to a gunshot after he defended a woman's honor at a bar. she got a letter from hillary clinton a few months after the heart attack asking if she was ok. all true.

a few years ago, she even told my mom she'd be here forever.

i was 21 when she had her second heart attack. Since then, its been an uphill thing for anna. Leg issues, blood clots, walkers, nurses, temporary stays at homes... And suddenly the image of resiliency that i called 'meema' was gone. I realize that one day, she is going to die. And just cuz i realized it, doesnt mean i'm ok with it.

So i thought about her every day and said things like, 'i need to call her'. But i wouldnt. I would get the info from my mom and hope. But i didnt want to hear her voice if it wasnt HER. Cuz that was all i had,
her voice.

So today i saw her. And she was thinner than last year. And she was wearing gloves cuz her hands are always cold now. And she went to the doctors today. But he says she's better. The last two times she visited him
he admitted her, so just her coming back from there was a big step. I'm so glad. All i really need was full submergence into grandma-ness to be ok. To see her, no matter what she looks like, and to hear her voice,
no matter what it sounds like. And, yes, to watch tv with her like we did when i was nine.

My grandma is still here, but one day she wont be. But i'll still love her either way. And i dont have to be ok with the fact that she's gone- when that happens. Its normal. But i'll love her while she's here. And to paraphrase her: i've got all this, and i'm the richest woman in the world.

Nothing But a Burnt Shell

the next few blog entries were written about two weeks ago, when i was in connecticut visiting family. this is the first time i've really been on a computer since then...enjoy.

Its gone, and i'm happy to see it go.

My cousin lives around the corner from where i used to live about fifteen years ago. its pretty close to the edge of town, its as bad as it seems. Its the part of town that gives Bridgeport a bad name. Especially my street. We went for a ride today, so he could run errands. This ride took us past mckinley elementary, the school my mom refused to send my brother to, amen.

"your kids go there?" imagine i said 'there' as if i was about to throw up.

"hell no. My kids go to longfellow (a muuuuuch better school)."

Sigh of relief...As we passed the school we approached other childhood landmarks, i pointed them out."and this is- was- my old babysitter's house, and where i was attacked by the dog, and this is..."

and then i saw it. The burnt remains of my former home.The third story was gone and the first two were just a black frame. All i could say was, "wow". My cousin gave a, "damn" of agreement.

For the lack of words i could say, my mind was racing. This was where i lived when my grandma Lula died. Where i got that self-inflicted scar on my arm that everyone thinks is from drug use. Where i saw the girl, with the baby in her arms, get shot-on my front porch. Did i mention the dog attack? There's so much more that i dare not mention on this blog.

All these things raced through my mind. No happy thoughts to mourn, just experiences i'm glad to see go. i had some of the most traumatic moments of my short life in that house. Six "families" could live in that house- six balls of negative energy confined to such a small space.

I wish i could have been there to see it burn. I would have roasted marshmallows probably. Done a dance. Cried. I could have watched all the bad float into the sky, into the dark, released from me.