So it is Christmas Eve. Although, not quite “eve” yet. There is some sort of Christmas music playing in the background. A CD that my MIL must have found in some weird store. The music has just been interrupted by my FIL who wants to put a football game on. I rejoice quietly in the back as I type this. I am also sipping a perfectly crafted cup of coffee (kona, creamer, and pumpkin syrup).
I spoke to my grandmother yesterday. I was told she burned herself badly with boiling water making something for my grandfather. It hurts not being able to rush over to where she is and take care of her. The best I could do for now was a phone call.
She assured me that she was fine. Such a grandma thing to do- she would try anything to make sure I’m not worried or stressed. She tells me the burns are better now and that she’s using some sort of ointment that gives her some relief. I decided to ask her if my grandpa has been helping her, maybe putting the ointment for her.
You should know that it is not like me to ask this. I have grown to hate my grandfather for several reasons, one of which you will learn about soon. So I never really mention him. In fact, I only do when I need to. During his birthdays, I actually need to prepare myself to call him. I can’t just quite pick up the phone and do so. I have to work up to it.
As soon as my question was over, my grandma laughed. It was a “why-on-earth-do-you-think-he’d-do-something-like-that” kind of laugh. At this point I didn’t know what was worse, that she was in pain because of the burns, or that she’s been numb her whole life because she’s never known love. I added a meager “okay” to the conversation before changing the subject.
This made me realize that I couldn’t care less about the gifts I could get tonight or tomorrow. If I could wish for any gift in the world, it’d be for my grandma to know love. No one should ever die without knowing what that feels like.