Wind Chimes

The wind chimes in my garden are above the roses and every time I hear them I think of my husband’s maternal grandma. They were given to us by the nursing home after she passed away almost two years ago.

We last saw her when my son was a toddler and my daughter was three and a half. My son screamed for most of the drive to Indiana. It took us two days to arrive but when we did, my children tolerated the dress clothes I put them in and we had a pizza party at the nursing home. My son hugged his “GG” the moment he saw her.

Over the years I made many trips to Indiana to see my husband’s family. His grandma was always waiting for us with sausage and sauerkraut in the crockpot. I loved her sunroom which was painted a fresh green and the shell sink in the bathroom that sparkled. I could feel my husband’s childhood memories that lived inside those walls.

On our last visit we said goodbye to the house. My son got a tractor and my daughter picked out a crystal dish before the estate sale and I got the pink dishes I had always admired. The children played in the sunroom and the house was full of life.

We knew that visit was the last time we would see the house, but we didn’t know it would be the last time we saw GG. When the world shutdown, an annual trip to Indiana wasn’t possible, and she died later that fall. The funeral was streamed online for close family and the four us sat on the couch in our home. My son peppered me with questions about death, and I saw him trying to wrap his head around what he was seeing on the computer. I took him outside and played with him on the porch so my husband could listen in peace. It was hard to process that she was really gone while I played with my son, my throat tight.

It’s been three years since we last visited but there’s a trip planned for this year. In many ways it doesn’t feel like GG is gone. It feels like time has stood still even though my son’s toddler raincoat no longer fits and my daughter’s favorite tutu dress from when she was three is packed away in the attic. Maybe this next visit will tell me that she’s truly gone. But for now it feels like she’ll be waiting for us with a crockpot full of food, her bright blue eyes full of love.