cornelia june.

so, i had a dream this morning in the midst of my remedial slumber, that place in between sleep and awake where you can still remember dreaming, and i was sitting in the old kitchen of the house where i grew up. there were hundreds, no exaggeration, hundreds of different bowls in every nook and cranny of that old house filled with soggy salad. thousands of pounds of field greens stuffed into these bowls dripping with balsamic vinaigrette; it was neverending. i don't remember how i got to the kitchen, or why there was only salad everywhere, but i woke up in a state where there were both tears and laughter because you always soaked your salads in balsamic vinaigrette. and i say that in the sweetest way possible, gma, but you did. and i can't believe that's what dream came to my psyche the day i finally accepted that you're not coming back.

i don't really know how or what to say about this past week, but it's tough.
i knew it was coming, we all did, but i didn't know it would be two days before i could make the trip to the lake to say goodbye to you. and i know you probably wouldn't have recognized me being there. but, i wanted to say goodbye, and i didn't get a chance to. so, i'm writing this in an effort to subdue some of the turmoil swirling about inside of me, because there's so much i wanted to tell you before you left the world for another place, and left this massive family to move on without you being the central force.

you'll never know that i'm never going to forget those bulk batches of chicken noodle soup you had waiting after every surgery. you'll never know that one day, a daughter of mine will bear the first name, "dwyer." and i don't care what my future husband has to say about it. you'll never know that one of my favorite memories in the entire world will be you fighting with great grandma elena over the rules of a card game you were teaching your granddaughter. you'll never know that i was really crushed the day you sold the white leather chair joseph used to spin me around in until i got sick. you'll never know that because of those days we would spend wandering around the rose garden i now have a reminder permanently inked on my back in memory of you. you'll never know that i'm still really mad at bob dushano because he promised us we'd meet dolly parton when you took us to dollywood. you'll never know that i completely admire you for raising an entire family of seven children, loads of grandchildren, and one greatgrandchild so far. you'll never know that i appreciate everything you ever did for me. and that i'm going to love you forever.

it's crazy how since you've left, things have become a lot more fragile, and even the battle of who gets to read at your funeral has become a topic of chaos. i don't know what this week will bring, and i can't really imagine being in your house without your voice reverberating through the walls, but it's going to happen. and i know i can make it. i just miss you. and i hope your pain's gone. well, i know it is. you were an incredible woman, mother, and grandmother, and i'll love you. always.

love, grandchild #7.