My Grandmother Came to Visit

My grandmother has been trying to get my attention all week:

She wrote me a letter. Dropped it where I had to lean over, pick it up. Read it.

She has been the star in every one of my dreams for five nights in a row.

She left a photo of the two of us under the coffee table. My daughter brought it to me last night. Now I can't find it anywhere. 

She pulled me to a box filled with her treasured dolls, passed on to me. "Keep the favs. Sell the rest."

She is here with me. I am certain of her presence. But why?

Here's the thing...

I have never read that letter before. Ever. My grandmother always, always dated her correspondence. Always. This one only had "wed" at the top. If I hadn't moved that box last night, I might not have seen the envelope slip to the floor. Could have taken months for me to discover it. She wrote of my mother's passing. Her words contained such heartfelt personal thoughts. I was moved. Comforted. And dumbfounded.. I rarely pressed her about her daughters. She often just shrugged it off. Her letter was a gift.

.

I am dealing with truly being alone, once again. I am sitting on her couch asking her why? She takes a long drag off her cigarette. Doesn't respond. She never responds.

I studied the photo my girl found under the table. Gram and I are in an embrace. Of all the zillions of pics, that is the one that found its way out of the stack. To be noticed. To be felt.

I felt relief when I opened that box of dolls. Must only carry that which is important to ME now.

But, WHY?

Maybe to teach me: share my feelings, allow a vulnerability that is comforting to others? Write. 

Maybe to tell me: figure the "Why" out on my own? You can do this.

Maybe to remind me: I am being embraced, even now? Spiritually?

Maybe to encourage me: hold onto what is important to ME. Let the other go?

Maybe to get me to thinking: work it out, write it out, get it out?

Or, maybe it was all coincidence?