Tight

Earlier this week (read: a week ago), I started having trouble breathing. My chest felt tight. I rifled through webMD in order to self-diagnose. I was relatively sure that I wasn't experiencing heart failure. Nonetheless, I couldn't shake the feeling that I needed to remind myself to breathe.

A year ago - right about now - I was throwing clothes, random clothes, into a bag. I packed seven T-shirts and no socks. The fact that temperatures in Greenville, SC tend to be a bit cooler than Tallahassee didn't seem to connect. I was crying and yelling and trying to make sure that we were ready to leave.

I got a call at work around 3:45 pm; it was time to come home... to say good-bye to Grami. My grandmother died a year ago Monday, the morning of November 3rd. This morning, NPR had something on about the Day of the Dead and a woman from NC called in because she would love to know how her late grandmother would have voted. Her grandmother was born in 1891. I would love to talk to Grami about how she was going to vote. We always talked about the elections. She would patiently listen to my opinions and share hers. I imagine that she would have voted for Obama. Not that she would have been jazzed about it - but I think she would have been pissed about Palin. Pissed at McCain.

My chest is tight. Once I finally figured out that the shortness of breath wasn't because of some weird pre-heart attack, but only mourning coming to visit again, it became easier to cry. The radio played a John Denver song about sunshine and I remember her voice clearly - before sickness and age changed it - singing You Are My Sunshine to me.

I miss you Grami. And I love you.