She cries for you, you know...

That's what my SIL said in a recent email to me. "She" is my 95 year old grandmother.
I have so many good memories of my grandma and my grandpa. They are my mother's (the host body) parents ~ they adopted the host body when she was 8 years old, their only child.

I was thinking about my gramma on Monday, during session. When I was a little girl, and I was sick, my gramma used to hold me in this old gold upholstered rocking chair. She would rock me and rub my back and she used to sing to me...bye-o-baby...baby-bye...bye-o-baby...oh, bye-bye...

I remember when I was in the hospital when I was 5 or 6, and my gramma sang to me every night the whole week...bye-o-baby... She was an elementary school teacher and every day, after school, she came and sat with me, and rubbed my back, and sang to me...bye-o-baby... The host body never came to see me when I was in the hospital then, not one time.

But gramma was there every day, sitting with me, rubbing my back and singing to me....

My gramma was a big gentle woman, tall, over 5'8" ~ never overweight, but stocky. She always wore pant-suits, giant clip-on earrings. Make-up for her was face powder and red lipstick...never anything else. She has always been this big protective woman to me.

I saw my gramma a little over a year ago (she lives across the country) and she's this tiny little old lady now. She's no bigger than I am, and I'm 5'3". She's fragile and it is so hard for me to see her that way...

I haven't been back to see her since because I haven't been able to 'deal' with the rest of my family. Emotionally, I don't feel strong enough. But when I got the email from my SIL, I talked to DH and we have agreed to go "back there" for the week of Thanksgiving. I want to see gramma, but don't want to see the host body. The "man-whore" is dead...but just going back there, to the very town I grew up in fills me with angst...and fear. And I am afraid. DH said it's up to me, but we had better not buy plane tickets only to have me freak out the day before we are supposed to leave...(that happened last time). DT says I shouldn't feel "forced" to go, or go out of guilt, but I will.

I cried on Monday, in session. I desperately wanted my gramma to hold me, to rock me in that gold rocking chair, and to sing bye-o-baby to me. I ached for the safety of her arms, for her protection. I longed to feel her safe hands on my back, to hear her calm voice singing to me...bye-oh baby....just rocking and singing quietly to me, in the darkness of her living room. Just me and my gramma.

I cry for you too...Gramma...I cry for you too...