When Plinky asked me to "Describe something you lost that you want back" I found my mind spinning back across time to a sad day in my childhood…
My father's mom, who I fondly called Memere, died when I was only five years old. She was in her late 80s when she died, and I knew that she was glad to finally be out of the nursing home she so despised.
Here is a glimpse at her personality for you: as soon as she got her first electric powered wheel chair she decided that the tables in the common dining room needed to be rearranged. She took matters into her own hands and started ramming them into place- wheel chair tires spinning! Needless to say, she was back in her manual wheel chair in no time at all.
She was an amazing woman. As I have grown older, I have often wished I could spend time with her now. I have so many questions I would love to ask her- so many stories that would take on new life coming from her lips.
She raised 13 children and lost about five more to death.
Her legacy lives on in the absolutely amazing sons and daughters she produced.
When she died, my Aunt Terri gave me three things as an inheritance.
A pleasantly plump stuffed toy mouse that was supposed to be my Christmas present from Memere, a pin that my long dead Pepe had carved out of wood that spelled out my Memere's name, and a beautiful clear heart necklace, with flowers etched into it. The necklace had also been a gift to Memere from Pepe. Aunt Terri said that my Memere had treasured it and would want me to have it.
I still remember the solemn awe that I felt when I wore it for the first time…
One day, several years later, I was climbing into my treehouse and realized that the chain was no longer around my neck. I searched frantically, retracing my steps countless times, but it was lost to the many feet of tall grass.
In tears, I begged everyone, from my parents to my boy cousins, to help me continue the search. They did, even resorting to a metal detector.
I never found it.
So now, the only heart I have to remember her by is the one beating in my own chest.
I hope I can somehow live up to the memory of the woman she was and all that she stood for.