Dear Grandpa,
December 28th came and went and I didn’t even
remember. It was a Saturday. I think I worked in the morning. I had just flown
back to Los Angeles days before. It’s the 8th and I still haven’t
unpacked my suitcase. Last year was different. Last year, we were at Tulocay
Cemetery moving your ashes. My
hair was in a fishtail braid. I took a xanax and I cried a lot. Kind of weird
to see you reduced to such a small little box. But I guess the important
things, the things that make me think of you, like your watch, your glasses,
your Brooks Brothers polos, those things are better off with us. My mom wears
your watch sometimes. I bet she did on the 28th. Two years ago on
the 28th, I was working at Sonoma Wine Garden. I was wearing blue
silky sweatpants from Zara. I picked up a Greens 3 from Pressed Juicery on my
way. And two years ago on the 28th, you died.
Christmas felt a lot better this year. I think it’ll always
be a little odd, but it was ten thousand times better than last year. Last year
didn’t feel like Christmas at all. I think everyone was just so sad that you
weren’t here. And it’s always easier to be mad, so everyone was mad. That was
me the year before too. So mad. Kicking and screaming to see you when no one
would let me, not knowing how sick you were. You were so strong at
Thanksgiving. Makes me wish I had hugged you a little tighter. But this year
was better. This year, we laughed about your chocolate covered cherries. We
drank chocolate milk. We missed you. I don’t think that part will ever change.
I’m teaching yoga to little kids now. I bet you’d have
rolled your eyes the first time I told you, kind of like when I told you I was
destined for rock star greatness and only asked for a drum set on my 17th birthday. But this one seems to be sticking. I bet I could tell you I was
joining the circus and you’d buy tickets to opening night. You did get me that
drum set, after all. But who’s idea was it to give it me unassembled? That was
genius. Days of putting it together left me so frustrated, I think I played it only
once. You probably knew that would happen. These kids are pretty frustrating
too, but unlike the drums, they have their redeeming qualities. One of them
made me a bracelet the other day.
You’re probably thinking only in Los Angeles can I teach
yoga to kindergartners as part of their school day, right? But these kids are
so cool. We talk about namaste and
what it means to them. They say the sweetest things like peace, and love, and best friends forever. I ask them who
they could say it to, and often times they tell me they could say it to their
dogs, which isn’t entirely off base. Sometimes they say me and I just melt.
Yesterday at McKinley Elementary, a little girl asked if she could say it to
her grandpa because he had cancer and I cried the whole way home. I think I’m
the most surprised that this is what I’ve fallen in to, but it honestly makes
me so happy and hopeful. These sweet little yogi babes make me so proud.
Hearing them say they’ve been doing yoga since they were five and three
quarters melts my heart.
When I tell them to be good bears, I think of you. When the
clocks change at daylight savings. And when I hear someone say it’s not the end of the world. When
tulips are in season. And whenever I check the mail, I think of you. I think
your letters are what I miss the most. So I guess I thought I’d write you one
of my own, and I hope it finds you in peace.
xoxo samantha