I walk into the antique store and that glorious smell hits me.
I smile and happy tears dare to fall.
Remembrance of a time decades past
with a wish to go back in time for a moment or two.
“Come see Grandma”.
I run and hide behind my mom.
“Stop now and go”.
“Steven, get her and bring her to me”.
I hold onto my mom’s legs.
I’ve been here before.
I know her, remember her.
She says she’s my grandma, it doesn’t click.
The grandma is always sitting in her chair.
Her chair is in the kitchen.
I never see her out of that chair.
There is no tv.
There is an interesting set of kitchen table and chairs.
She has hair as white as snow.
Her hair appears short but I’m told in later years it was long, always put back.
There is always a blanket in progress on her lap.
She has long, skinny fingers.
They scare a little girl.
Many years later I see her again.
She isn’t in the house,
but in an old persons home.
She’s sitting in that chair.
A blanket in progress on her lap.
Her long, skinny fingers folded in her lap.
She says very little.
I now understand she’s my mom’s grandma too.
I’m in my bedroom.
Mom walks into the hallway and says,
“Grandma has passed away”.
I cry and cry and cry although I didn’t really know her.
We walk into a small church and there she is,
in the front of the church,
in a box.
I’m afraid but my brother says,
“You have to go see her”.
I hide behind my brother and peak at the grandma with the snow white hair,
her long, skinny fingers are linked together.
I cry and cry and cry.
I walk into the antique stop and that most wondrous old smell hits me,
brings tears to my eyes and a smile to my face.
I think of the wooden and wicker little kid rocking chair
she handed down to me as a little girl.
I think of the beautiful kitchen table that was handed down to her,
from her mother,
that now stands in my own kitchen.
I think of the white haired lady with her long hair pulled back,
sitting in her kitchen.
She tells me she’s my grandma.
I wish I would have been able to know her more.