Gemini Girl

She comes to me in dreams.

Always radiant.

Always beautiful.

Full of life, exhuding warmth and love.

Just as I remember.

She wore a scarf over her hair for religious reasons.

A part of me feels like they were for cosmetic reasons too.

The scarves were always made of silk and had beautiful patterns.

She purchased many of them on her trips to Paris when her son lived there.

She never wore anything off the rack.

They had to be altered to fit her high expectations.

She loved to show you her new dress when you came to visit.

Her home always smelled of delicous food.

Dishes that she had been making since she was a little girl.

Food that have been in our family for so many years.

Every Friday morning at 4am, I would awake to the smell of baked bread. She would make a special bread so that her husband and all her neighbors would have some for the sabbath.

I would always ask her why she wasn’t sleeping.

She always answered that she had so much to do to prepare for G’D's Sabbath.

My favorite dish that should would make was a pan of grilled chicken, potatos and red peppers in the oven. She would only make it on Friday’s.  It was always slightly burnt on one end and we would fight for the crunchy parts.

She would always cook for hours before the Sabbath and then clean up after everyone. Never asking for help.

I miss her stories, she would ramble on and on and you would never know if there was an ending in there somewhere.

Half the time I would have to look at other people’s expressions to see if she was being serious.

She loved to make people laugh.

Hers was a home that was engulfed with love.

She made me feel special.

I was, after all, her eldest granddaughter. There were many more who came after me, but I was the first.

She would often pull me the side in secret, and shove money into my hands and curl up my fingers.

“Go buy yourself something pretty” I can still hear her say.

The last time I saw her she was skinny.

The cancer ate at her and she was skin and bones.

This woman was always round and beautiful.

And then she wasn’t.

And then my grandmother was gone.

Grandmothers die.

That is a fact of life.

But not her.

She was young.

She had so many good years left.

But she didn’t.

And just like that, she was taken away.

Away from her 7 children, 20 grandchildren, 2 great-grandchildren and the HUNDREDS who came to celebrate her life.

I will forever mourn her loss.

I write about her often.

That’s because she is so much a part of me.

And when a part of you dies, you are never whole again.

Last night, I dreamt of her.

I don’t like calling it a dream, because I know that they are not.

She visits me.

She sat there, on her couch, in a brown sparkly dress and black silk scarf.

She half smiled at me.

Like she wasn’t allowed to smile, like she was breaking protocol.

I assume that there is a protocol when they visit us.

I don’t think they are allowed to give us lottery numbers for example.

She never speaks to me in words, it’s always telepathically.

My mother says that they usually don’t speak when they come to you.

But she was there.

She is always there.

She wanted me to know that.

And I do.