Remembering my grandmother on the anniversary of her death.
But last week I found a cassette tape she and my mother made in 1987, when she was strong, living on her own, still driving, still working, when I could never reach her on the phone because she was always out at some meeting or movie or play.
I put the tape on and heard her voice--that voice--for the first time in years, and it just broke me inside at first, and I cried. But the more I listened the better I felt because it's proof: She was here and she had teeth and she smiled with them.
She was vain and funny and strong and smart. And there were a lot of years when we were friends and loved each other, and a lot of seasons when I didn't fail her like I did at the end.