Thinking that one day I won’t remember how it felt to be hugged by my grandmother scares me.
I know it happens. It’s happened with my mom; I don’t remember what it was to hold her hand when crossing the street, but I can give you highlights from our Disney World trip.
It’s like after you lose someone your crutch is selective memory. Some things just stick in your mind, so when the little things are forgotten you still have the chance of holding on to something.
Something that I’m doing now, that I wish I had done when I was growing up, is writing everything down. In a lot of ways Too Damn Young is my public diary. There are moments, and feelings, on here that I can always come back to.
I’m also writing privately. I’m jotting down things about my grandmother that time and distance may wash away. Small things like her Spanish sayings or how upset she would get over certain things.
There will come a day when I don’t remember her voice and chances are in that moment I’ll cry. But, I hope, that when I look back at the stories I’ve written, I’ll use the sweet, funny and unbelievable things she did to dry my tears and ease my worries.
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