..::11.07.08::..
as i waited for the bus today the thought occurred to me that i might be moving into some new stage of grief. the stage of not feeling. some better way of denying. accepting. i had gone through my usual phone calling while waiting caveat and the thought had occured to me to call her. and then i remembered she wasn't around anymore. i was happy to think i may not cry again. or at least not for a while. and then minutes later i i heard an old woman on the bus say to her granddaughter that they should move to the other side so the sun wasn't in her eyes. i turned to see her and she was a darker complected version of my grandmother. for some reason despite her blatant racism at times, it is most often older black women that remind me of her both in appearance and in mannerisms. the hair. the stoop. the white harachi sandles. little girls matching. it was a test i could not pass and for the next ten blocks tears streamed down my face as i watched the sweetness of the old woman and the little girl and remembered when my grandmother had taught me the word harachi and bought me my first pair. how she'd unwrap my candy too. how simple things were then. and how much farther love went when you didn't question it.
