Time and Fear (11/2/2024)

For the past few days I've been at my Grandma's house more often. I don't think there's any particular reason for this, she lives right next door to me and my Mom was there and she called me to come over to give her something or whatever, and I just decided to stay over a bit. 

And I guess the extra time I've spent there has just gotten me thinking about how this will be my house once she passes and I'm an adult. this is a fact I've known for a long time. My Grandma has always been saying how all her books will be mine once she dies. I think I remember the first time she told me this. I was very young, and the thought of her dying scared me quite a bit at the time, and I never told anyone about this fear, and she reassured me that it would be a long time from now, but i never stopped fearing it. I guess I was always kind of like that, being so anxious and afraid over so many things, yet never telling anyone. I think I'm still like that quite a bit. 

I'm getting off topic. I'll come back to that.

Now in the present, my Grandmother still talks about the day when she will no longer be here quite often. And it still frightens me quite a bit. I guess it makes sense, she's 83 now I'm pretty sure. but I still don't want to think about that she could die soon anyways. My grandmother on my Dad's side, as well. She's 73, and has cancer. she's had it for a while, I remember being in elementary school and overhearing that phone call I wasn't supposed to hear. I was so scared. 

And I never told anyone. 

Except for one person. my best friend at the time, and I cried in her arms about it on the bus. but no one else.

And eventually I started to forget about it, but then it came all right back to me somewhat recently. 

It was the summer between 8th grade and my freshman year of high school. the grade I'm in now. We were in the car, and she was taking me to this play I was rehearsing for. She was telling me how that day was going to be the last day she could take me, and my Mom would have to take me from now on, because she was going on chemotherapy because the medicine she was taking for it was no longer working. 

I remember that fear I felt, the sharp wave of anxiety, the way I could suddenly feel all my clothes and my seatbelt and the seat I was sitting on at once, everything was louder and brighter. The way I started to get somewhat nauseous, how my stomach caved into all my other organs, how that stiff pain and uncomfortableness shot up my legs and hands, and my head started to burn and ache.

But I never said anything. I just nodded, swallowed the lump in my throat, and just said "Okay."

And stepped out of the car, walked in the door, and rehearsed like nothing was wrong.

like I had been doing for the past so many years of my life, because I don't think I can remember a time before everything wasn't okay. 

time. 

like the clocks on the walls on my Mother's Mother's walls. she loves clocks. said she used to collect them.

Every time I'm at her house, I look around a bit. I look at all the paintings walls from thrift stores, the bookshelves, the chairs and the couch. The menorah on the bookshelf next to the front door, the other menorah on the bookshelf next to the hallway. I look at all the lamps, and the TV that hasn't been used in probably years. I see the shelves of plants, and the shelves taken up with coloring books and colored pencils. 

I go in the kitchen, and I see the salt and pepper shakers from a thrift store that look like pilgrims that are supposed to be for Thanksgiving that just never got put away. I see the sink, with dish soap and a sponge and a dish scrubbing thing and more dish soap. I look at the counter, and see the bowls of cat food and water, and many other kitchen related items. I look to the floor, and see the bowls of dog food and water, above the blue and white checkered tile. 

I go in the hallway, and see the cream colored tile lining almost the entire house, and the closets and rooms lining the walls. I see the litter box on the ground, and the newspapers below it to catch excess litter that the cats kick out. 

I go in the bathroom, and see the blue patterned shower curtain, and the shower seat in the shower. I see the grey fluffy rug on the floor near the shower and toilet. 

I see everything, and I think about how all of this, every inch of this home, will one day be mine. When she passes. When she's gone. I'm so scared to think that there will be a time when eventually she won't be sitting in her chair in the living room, drawing in a coloring book or reading or on the laptop or whatever. 

and I get that she's not always great. she's xenophobic and racist and transphobic and all that. But I still love her. I remember we used to spend all the time together when I was little, when I never knew of her hate, or didn't understand the extent of it. and I wish with all my heart that she would be more often to unlearn all the hate, but I've tried. I can't. 

But I still love her so much. 

and I'm just so afraid of losing her. 

I'm so scared because I know the passage of time will eventually take her. it will take everyone and everything eventually. but this one feels so close. 

all the people and animals I've known pretty much my entire life will eventually be gone. and the people I've only known for a fraction of my life, but still love and care about so deeply, will be gone. 

and I'm just so afraid.

And I don't know if that fear will ever go away. that fear for anything, really. sometimes I feel like I'm still that little girl, fearful of almost everything, afraid of how the world will take her, being careful to do anything to keep herself alive but never telling anyone of how afraid she was constantly. Even if we're so different now, we're still so similar in so many ways. 

It's so funny how time just flows like that, huh?