And just like it always seems to happen, everything else falls by the wayside when classes start up again. For a moment, I was diligent. I found a way to work on what little vocabulary words I could, and it seemed to be working out well. I can still remember numbers and phrases...just haven't been adding anything new lately.
My goal was to get a whole lot better by the time I head to Boston to visit my best friend. I wanted to legitimately be able to speak some Lithuanian so I could make worlds align, in some strange way.
I've wanted a tattoo that says "As tave labai myliu" for a long time. My grandma was from Boston, her parents from Lithuania. I felt and still feel that Boston holds some secrets she wants to share with me.
When she passed away, I couldn't make it through a day without bawling for months. The little things...everything...reminded me of her.
I was taking summer classes, and I believe it was finals week when the news came. I was walking downtown to get to my second class of the day when the phone rang (I can't remember if I called mom or she called me). Grandma had a stroke. I don't remember the details, I just remember the pain. I remember trying to hold back the tears, and I remember thinking how pointless all the classwork seemed from then on out. She got better - I visited her in the hospital and giggled when her nurse came in and asked her to name farm animals, and she listed off ants among other things. She was in a hospital bed, but she was still my granny, still damned perturbed as ever when she couldn't get a question just right, and stubborn as they'd come. She wouldn't let the nurse tell her the answers to math problems until she got them figured out.
I wasn't there when it happened.
I had seen her after she lost her speech, but I just wanted her to get better. I didn't want to leave her, but there was nothing I could do. I was small, insignificant, and helpless. When I looked in her eyes, all I could see was her begging to get out of the ICU, out of the hospital. And there wasn't one thing I could do.
I saw her in the room days later, at that point not my granny anymore. Just waiting. Everyone waiting.
I still think about her every day.
The truth is, I still need her. I need her terribly. I wasn't ready for her to leave then, and I'm still not ready for her to leave now. There are so few people that understand me, and even fewer that know how to listen - the one thing I really need. Those that know how to ask questions and to listen. Those that you can tell about your fifth grade crush or the reason your parents make you so mad. Those that won't judge you and won't tell you what you don't want to hear. Those that help you hear yourself.
I want to tell her that I'm finally going to Boston, and I want to hear her tell me where I should visit, what she remembers. I want to tell her that I have a new kitten, that I wrote for a paper, that I have an internship. I want to tell her all about the stupid things that frustrate me in life, so she can listen and tell me it will all be alright. I want to tell her what an idiot I make of myself and have her put it in perspective.
It will be three years this summer, and I haven't found anyone to fill her place. I haven't found anyone who can be what she was to me.
She won't see my graduation or my wedding, if even on videotape. And that kills me.
Every single day, I want to call her, to talk to her. Every single day, I miss her.
