i'll talk to you later

Childhood years are a cherished memory for all of us. Yet the innocence involved in our childhood lives sometimes affects us in ways that aren't perceived by the human eye.

I’ll Talk To You Later

At the age of eight, I did not understand the concept of death. I did not know the existence of a “heaven” or “hell”, and how one got to either place. I 8certainly did not know about God, or anything religious at all. My mother raised me as a shielded child, and would often answer my curiosity filled questions with; “you will understand when you are older.” But when was “older” old enough? At eight years old I still yearned to know more about topics, but had no ability to find out more. 

The room was illuminated and piano music whispered through the speakers. Bouquets of different flower arrangements sat on the left and the right side of the “box” where my great grandfather laid. My mother lifted me up to the big “box” and told me to place three fake roses with my great grandfather. One rose had an image of me taped onto it, the other rose had a picture of my younger sister, and the third had a picture of my mother’s ultrasound - since she was pregnant with my little brother. I hugged my great grandmother on the way back to my seat - and she assured me that all was well, and that it was nothing more than a surprise slumber party for my great grandfather. So I sat in the front row, in the folding chair, and played on my Leapster handheld video game, as I waited for him to wake up. 

After we left the building, we had gone up to a tent in a large yard filled with big stones that appeared to have names of other people on them. The “box” that my great grandfather had been laying in was slowly lowered into the ground as nearby riflemen shot off their 21 gun salute. From the wails and weeps of nearby people, it did not take long until I realized that my great grandfather was still in “the box” and that he was not going to wake up any time soon. I felt a wave of panic and heartbreak flush throughout my body, and flailed in an attempt to escape my mother’s arms. I do not know where I wanted to go, or what I wanted to do, but I do know that I did not want to accept that my great grandfather was not coming back, and not waking up as they said he would. My mother put me into the car with my younger sister, where I sat in the backseat flailing about and I cried myself to sleep. 

My family would visit my great grandmother often after my great grandfather’s unexpected passing to make sure she was okay. “I miss Pop-Pop,” I said to her as we sat on the cold wooden bench on her front porch. “Yeah, me too,” she replied, staring blankly straight ahead. A tear escaped her eye, and I ran inside the house. I pulled a dining chair to the refrigerator door and grabbed a couple tissues from on top of the fridge . “Thank you,” she said as she wiped her eyes, “we will all meet him again someday.” She told me about heaven and hell, and how she was certain Pop-Pop went to heaven. She told me all about God, and answered the questions I had been so eager to find out more about. She would go on about stories about how she met my great grandfather, how they would go dancing quite often, and stories about the good times they shared. She would tell me stories that he had told her about his time in Korea, and stories about his life before the war. Loneliness radiated a cold feeling throughout the house. His recliner where he once sat was now left empty, his chair at the kitchen table was empty, and his rocking bench outside would only rock gently with the wind. 

My great grandmother flooded her house with pictures of our family to fill the loneliness she felt. Not a single inch of wall was left open, all of it was filled with pictures and picture frames, or cards we would give her for holidays or her birthday. She loved having company come visit her, and would insist that they stay awhile. It did not matter who they were, as long as they were friendly and were willing to sit for hours and listen to her stories, they were invited inside. She would insist that they eat and drink something while they stay, as if it was going to be their last meal for a long while. She would never say “goodbye” but she would rather say “I’ll talk to you later”. 

“I’ll talk to you later Sweetpea, I love you,” was how she always said goodbye to me. Whether it was as I was bending halfway down to hug her as she sat slouched in her recliner and kissed me on the cheek, or as I was hanging up the phone with her to continue on with my day. “Sweetpea” had been my nickname from her ever since I was a little girl. Not many people had given me nicknames throughout my childhood, few had called me “CeCe”, but “Sweetpea” had been a nickname exclusive for use only by my great grandmother. 

In 2018, my great grandmother had been diagnosed with kidney disease as I had been visiting her in Philadelphia. After I went back to Pittsburgh, my grandmother was not able to take daily care of my great grandmother, and I had lived across the state with my dad, so my great grandmother had been sent to a nursing home. I felt guilty since it was my decision to move with my father, so I called her weekly to make sure she was doing well and to hear the latest “old-people” gossip. She would tell me how proud she was of me for continuing my education on the other side of the state, how proud of me she was for my involvement in school functions, and how proud of me she was that I had my own job. She was my biggest supporter in everything I did, even if she was not able to be there to physically witness it. As always, she still happily told me her goodbyes in her usual statement; 

“I’ll talk to you later, Sweetpea. I love you.”

My job had started to lose its employees, and as a result I had to work more hours. I went from calling my great grandmother on the weekly to calling her once every two weeks. I had also been frantically applying for different colleges, and I had also been looking for a different job so I would have more time to enjoy senior year. As I had checked my email for any acceptance letters from colleges, I noticed there was an email from my grandmother. 

I clicked it, and it was an email that had been mass sent out to my family members and myself. It read that my great grandmother could no longer speak, she had lost her voice. She had also lost her ability to breathe on her own, and now had to have a breathing tube constantly. She was put on medicine that made her sleep most of the day away, and worst of all, my great grandmother had started refusing to eat and drink. As tears escaped from my eyes, I quickly realized my time left with my great grandmother was limited and there was nothing I could do about it. I realized that I could not even call her anymore. How would I know if she picked up? How would I know when she fell asleep? What would I even say… I’m sorry? 

Guilt filled every inch of my soul. My great grandmother needed me the most, and I had no idea how to be there for her, or if it was even possible. My stepmother offered to take me back out to Philadelphia so I could say goodbye, but there just was not any time to do so. A week after I received the email, my great grandmother went to heaven to dance with my great grandfather once again. I mentally battled with the decision to go across the state to her funeral. Was I prepared? I understood death now, but was I prepared to say goodbye to the person who meant everything to me? I then decided it would be the only way to repay her for all that she has done for me. Attend her funeral, and be there for her even if she was not there to witness it. I sent a bouquet of green flowers to the funeral home incase I would not be able to make it across the state in time for the funeral. I made sure the white index card attached to the bouquet read from Sweetpea. 

A week after her passing, I received an email from Waynesburg University. It was a letter of acceptance and a scholarship letter. At first, I felt upset because my great grandmother was not here to witness me make her proud one more time. At a second glance, I realized that my great grandmother may have played a part in my acceptance all along, and already knew about it far before I knew. She waits patiently with my great grandfather for the rest of our family with a warm smile, and loving heart that she once had for all of us here during the blessed time we were able to spend with her. 

Reviews

[Samuel Dickens]

Excellent! This story is well-told and full of words that ring true to life. I was there at G-grandfather's funeral and felt the child's confusion at the ordeal. Having once been young, I shared your views and feelings throughout. How sad about G-grandmother and how you weren't able to there with her at the last. One thing is for sure, though, and that is that her love for you was not diminished one little bit.

[Sierra]

Samuel,

I appreciate your open honesty about this piece! This had actually been a college paper that I wrote and the Professor had loved it so much that I decided to share it here, too! Glad you enjoyed and can relate to the feelings I went through!

Take care!