Angels Among Us.
My entry this evening has turned its face towards a love and a loss type of writing. Today, Olivia Newton-John gained her Angel Wings. I never met her but I sure did watch her movies, sing along to her songs and drempt of being Sandy one day when I got older. The woman was an icon and one who soon will not be forgotten.
It is, to say the least, a little strange to me how the mind, my mind works or feels at times. Everyone says that Heaven is such a beautiful place. I have read so many things about it, never missing a show that is a true story. Anyone who has been there or seen a glimpse of it tells of the glorious utopia that lingers among the fluffiest clouds in the most radiant sky that has ever been offered to any single human. When these people are chosen for a brief moment to engage in the aura of those who have walked through the gates before them, the World becomes different.
My Grandmother used to tell me that she was a Witch. At times I would have agreed if you changed that "W" to a "B" but a Witch? Never. Though she did do some Voo-Doo kinda sh*t that always left me wondering how in the World? This woman was raised on what she called "The Farm Road." If you remember one of my ditties in another writing I spoke of it. It was where she grew up. Where we would return to - getting berries and fire wood. Often. Now My Grandma would always tell me that whenever she drempt of "The Farm Road" something bad was going to happen. The something bad could have been anything. That always scared me. One day she called me out of my room asking me to get a piece of paper and something to write with. I argued for awhile. I didn't understand why she couldn't do it. Was her a** super glued to her chair or something? Finally I got it and said here, tossing it at her. She told me to pick it up and to write this name down on it. Let me guess? Her arm was broke now too? I wrote the name down but not before an epic eye roll. I shoved the paper that had the name on it towards her. It was shoved back just as fast and I was told to fold it up and hide it someplace she couldn't find it. Jesus! The bat was going senile now. Lucky me! In order to get away from her though I did what she asked. I folded that paper like it was a bad report card, sticking it under my socks in one of my drawers. I then forgot about it. The day went on with nothing more being mentioned about. The next morning when I waltzed out of my room for the day, I found my Grandmother sitting at the table clearly shaken. I asked her what was wrong.
"Do you still have that paper I told you to write the name on?"
"What paper?"
"The one I had you put the name on yesterday?"
"I think? I am not sure."
"Please go find it. Please?"
I go and retrieve it bringing it to her.
"Can you open it and read the name you wrote down?" *Here we go again.
I open it and read the name. She opens the paper, pushing it towards me with trembling hands. She then points to a name. It was the same name she had me write down the previous day. The name on the piece of paper in my handwriting matching the name of a woman who had just been found murdered. I didn't like it. I didn't like it at all!
It wasn't always bad though ... she did this thing where she could tell a pregnant woman what the sex of her unborn child was before the doctors even knew. She could go on to tell you how many children that you would also be having in your lifetime. It was always spot on. She stopped doing it though after at a party once, she was doing a reading and told one woman that she wouldn't be having any kids. Ever. It was then revealed that woman was pregnant at the time. *she did go on to have a miscarriage. My Grandmother refused to do any more readings again.
At one point in her elderly life, she needed open heart surgery. A triple bypass. I was devastated. I couldn't lose her. It sounds funny but she was always the other half of my total existence. I prayed. Oh how I prayed she would be alright. After months of recovery she talked to me one night. We talked all the time but this one night, she confided in me. Something she never told anyone else at least not yet. She told me that when she was being operated on, she arrived at this most beautiful river. There were flowers. Millions and millions of flowers. The air was soft like that of a welcomed cool breeze on a hot Summer evening. She talked of there being 6 stepping stones that crossed this river. My Grandmother had 4 sisters, herself and a brother. She assumed that is why there were 6 stones. One for each of the kids. She told me that Great Grandmother was on the other side of the river in all her holy glory and informed her that this was not her time to "leave." She had to go back. There were people who needed her on Earth. She then was back in her physical body laying on a white hospital sheet on to hard of a bed in an unfamiliar room.
I lost her in 2001 along with most of my heart.
I spend days, hours even working on albums full of memories for my kids so they have something to hold once I gain "here's hoping" my Angel Wings. I write these blogs so they have stories to tell their children in hopes they will tell their children and they will continue to be passed on "forever." Sometimes it is so hard going through all these pictures. You would think they memories they bring would radiate comfort yet sometimes they only push out tears. I miss My Grandmother so much. So. Much. Words can't even convey how much. I can't wait to see her again. That feeling of unconditional love. But at the same time, I gaze at these photographs and my heart aches thinking someday I wont be with my kids. I won't physically be there for things like first days of school, to sing Happy Birthday to them, to go on road trips together or to make sure Santa gets them just what they ask for, for Christmas. I won't be there to tell them I don't like their new fashion style, to taste their latest whatever that "food" is they just made or to remind them to slow down on corners.
I have always believed in Angels and I know someday, God willing, I will be able to sing ... No. No. No. My Grandmother can't sing ... in the choir with her. I will be able to feel my Grandpa kiss me on the cheek and I will get to play frisbee with my dog again but honestly as bad as I want that and as long as I have waited for it, I hope that it is still going to be a long time - years and years and years and years and years until that happens. because I can't imagine ever not having my children in my life - or rather me being the thorn in theirs.
Kazz 💋
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