There I am, fifteen years old, sitting on the last Christmas present my grandma ever received. The new couch almost seems out of place in the abundance of memories the old house contains. I almost feel guilty because the couch is so comfortable. The table sits all alone in the kitchen, almost begging us to prepare a dish for it to hold. The stove is cold, and the counters are cleared, almost as if she were never here. But, no matter the changes, this is, and always will be, my grandma’s house. The pictures on the walls, the bags of yarn and crocheting needles, the decks of cards, and the empty recliner remind me of her. I just hate how it all ended...
My hands are so small that the needle looks like a bat in my hands. Crocheting isn’t my strong point, but my sister is doing it, so I have to learn. My grandma is always crocheting, and it looks interesting. Today is the day that I learn the skill so when I’m old, I can sit in my rocking chair and sew day in and day out like grandmas do. My grandma slowly explains to me how to hook the needle into the yarn, and the rest of the process. Anna claims she’s making hers all one color. So, mine is going to be rainbow colors. I have to be better than my sister. Eight years old and curious, I work at it. Night and day, day and night, I work until I have this mastered. I want to make a scarf for my mom. My sister and I compete as we always do, yet, no matter how competitive we are, my grandma still loves us the way we are. She laughs her quiet laugh and just continues on with her teaching.
I’m finally old enough to play poker with my family. It’s Thanksgiving and poker is our tradition. My dad gives me a lid full of change for me to play with. But, when I run out of money, I’m done.
“You’ve gotta lose a whole lot before you can win anything,” my uncle Junior says to me.
Laughs fill the room.
“Well, I think I’ve witnessed my dad lose enough times throughout the years that I should be able to do pretty well,” I respond.
My uncle laughs a laugh that I’d only heard once or twice. It was full of happiness and love. Everyone around the table laughs at my witty remark, and I finally feel like I’m somebody. My grandma laughs too. She laughs her quiet laugh, and it’s a laugh that I always hear, no matter the occasion. She told my uncles to go easy on me, but I said not to, because I was thirteen. I could take on my uncles easily. But that’s the kind of person my grandma is. She’s always looking out for me. Always.
I walk into the house, and immediately notice something is off. There isn’t food cooking. There’s nobody in the kitchen. The recliner is empty. The house seems offset.
“Where’s mom?” my dad immediately asks.
“She’s in the hospital. She had an episode yesterday, but she should be home tonight,” my aunt replies almost as if she were a robot.
Nobody had called my dad. Nobody had told us anything about her being sick. But, we let it slide. Everything began to change... I only wish I’d realized it sooner.
The phone rings. It is the phone call I don’t want to come through. The light from the screen seems to rip through the darkness of the room and beg for my attention. The movie was loud, but it doesn’t matter to me. This phone call is happening now, and there isn’t a way to avoid it. My mom speaks with unevenness in her voice. She knows it’ll crush me. The words come through.
“Ab, she’s gone.”
The chairs catch me as I begin my descent towards the floor. They’re my airbag in this horrible car wreck that is going to change my life forever. All I can hear is the voices of my friends realizing something is not right. Some realize what happened. Some don’t. My rock was gone. I’ll never hear that soft laugh again. I’ll never have that person to always watch out for me. I’ll never be able to say goodbye. I’ll never see her again. Now, all I can worry about is my dad. How is he taking it? What’s he thinking? Should I call him or just leave him to his time with all his siblings? What happens now?
So, here I am. Fifteen years old and sitting on the last Christmas present my grandma ever received. The new couch almost seems out of place in the abundance of memories the old house contains. I almost feel guilty because the couch is so comfortable. I hear my dad call out to me, telling me to come set the table.
“Nothing has changed, Abbi. We’ll all be okay.”
And for once in my life, I believed that. We will be okay because everything is okay in the end. If it’s not okay, it’s not the end. I stand up and begin to walk into the kitchen… and I hear that quiet laugh.
