laura.elaine

Today was nothing I thought it would be and that’s usually the best. Everything I thought I would do, I didn’t.

Even my go-with-the-flow approach was structured and planned - though I spent most of the day thinking I was being amazingly uncharacteristic. Showers, a face mask, moisturizing without pants (shoutout to Sarah on that one) - it was all nice but not what would, realistically speaking, be labeled as “spontaneous”.

I spent most of my day indoors, silent, listening to nothing but the sound of my own breath - sweeping, dusting, lying still.

This evening my Grandmother came home hot and tired but not hungry. I put on a movie for us to watch - “Listen to Your Heart” - and suggested we stay in for the evening. It was a great movie; it had me hooked from the start. Eventually though my longing for a “normal” Fourth pushed me out the door.

I got Grandma in the car with me, saying we’d go grab a bite to eat and be right back. I knew the fireworks at the country club would be starting soon and figured she could watch as I drove.

The timing could not have been more perfect. As I approached the outskirts of the neighborhood, the first firework was lit and exploded into the sky right in front of us.

I drove slowly to avoid children in the street - and to let her soak it all in. I don’t know when she last saw fireworks, but I know it’s been several years, since Papa had been sick and wasn’t able to drive.

I “detoured” and parked us a block or so away from the fireworks and the crowds, in a quiet lot with few others around. I rolled down all the windows, put “America the Beautiful” on repeat on my iPod, and reclined back in my driver’s seat.

I watched for what seemed like an hour as the fireworks glowed in the night sky. The flashes of green and fuscia and gold lit up the inside of my little car and though I couldn’t see perfectly, I’m positive she was smiling.

Tears streamed down my face as I thought about the freedoms I am allowed in this country. So many freedoms are still denied so many and yet - we have reason to be grateful.

We buried my Papa Angel in January - my Grandma’s love of 24 years - a veteran of war and the most gentle, loving man you’ve ever met. He was quiet, but outgoing. He loved people, laughed at his own jokes, and was generous to a fault. He was on my mind the whole time and I knew he’d be happy that my Grandma was able to see the show, even if it was an obstructed view in a car with no A/C.

After a lengthy drive around town (with music playing, so I could collect myself “in private”), we landed back at home and finished our movie.

Wow. What an incredible piece of art. I love it.

It’s left me missing my Papa Angel more than I thought I could. Grandma is busy getting ready for bed and my mind is racing, wondering where he is and what he’s thinking. Is he praying? Is that what happens?

Am I making him proud? Am I honoring his memory in my relationship with Grandma? Is he going to ask her to come to him soon?

I really hate crying.