July 13, 2010 § 2 Comments
my grandmother has dementia, my cousin tells me. she is one of the few people in the world who loved me for being me. and nothing else. not perfect (for example homophobic) but at her best light and wisdom and clarity that saw through the surface of the world to capture the truth of a moment.
i would stay with her in south carolina during the summers. she protected me from my family and a world that insisted there was something wrong with that little girl who sat in the corner, read books, wrote poems to herself, drew pictures and took long walks. too quiet, too introverted, too weird. she gave me space. she was the first person to explain racism to me. at night we would sit up after everyone had gone to sleep and talk until one of us dropped into dreams.
she was the only person in my family (other than my lil brother) who actually thought me going to palestine was a good thing. and basically told the rest of my family (with all of their side comments and glaring ignorance) that they did not know what they were talking about. i still have pictures of that christmas hanging on our dining room walls.
i am grateful that there is nothing left unsaid between us.
and i wonder what world she lives in now.