Okaycan encompass a whole slew of feelings.Okaycan be sad, happy, scared, and beingokaydoesn’t cancel out any of those.Okaycan still hurt really bad, but even two years later, the grief of losing my favorite person in the world feels verynotokay.
Sometimes that grief is a storm cloud I can feel looming right behind me. Other times, it’s a heavy weight on my chest that spreads out to my limbs, and those days, it’s hard to get out of bed and fake my way through a customer-service smile.
That’s how it feels today—like the memory of Gramps is pressing me down into the earth, making my muscles difficult to move.
“Look at this one.” Dad proudly thrusts a seedling into my view.
“So cute. What is it?” I ask, trying to add some enthusiasm to my tone.
“Little kale plant!”
“Kale chips!” Mom cheers from the other side of the garden.
“Oh, wait, look atthisone.” Dad holds up another plant.
A few clumps of soil fall onto my shirt. “Looks exactly the same.”
“Nah, this one’s about an inch taller. Healthy little guy. Spring is officially here.”
One of my parents’ dogs, Maple, curls herself up next to me. “The tulips still haven’t sprouted,” I announce, my voice somber. I’ve been checking every morning, hoping to see a hint of green in the flower beds in front of the A-frame. They never appeared last spring—almost like they were grieving the loss of Gramps too.
“I bet they show up soon,” Mom assures me. “The weather is getting a tad warmer every day.”
“Have you added any compost into the soil?” Dad asks.
“Yeah. Hopefully the bulbs are okay.”
“We can get some new ones. Your dad and I are heading to a gardening store in Wilhelmina in the morning. We can look there.”
“No thanks.” I sigh. “I want to keep trying Gramps’s original bulbs.”
“Okay, sweetie,” Mom says soothingly. “Want to come with us tomorrow? We’re staying to see the girls after they get out of school. They have soccer practice.”
“I wish I could, but I have work.” I grin, imagining my nieces in their little shin guards and cleats. “I love that they’re playing soccer.”
Dad laughs. “Millie says they dance around the field for most of the game.”
“Well, they aresix,” Mom points out. “I’m sure that competitive streak will come, especially with Finn and Millie around.” She sets a basket of garden tools down beside me. “Sorry we won’t be here for dinner tomorrow, though. You’ll be on your own, but there’s leftover casserole from last night, if you want that.”
I close my eyes, assessing this new low I seem to have dropped into. My parents apologizing to me—their twenty-eight-year-old daughter—for having plans. It’s pretty pathetic, when you think about it. Here I am, star-fishing in their garden, waiting for them to finish so we can go inside for dinner.
As a kid, my twenties felt like this shiny time I couldn’t wait to get to. I’d be going to parties, surrounded by friends. I’d have a job I love, an adorable apartment straight out of a Nora Ephron movie. I’d be jet-setting somewhere on a whim and have a camera roll full of hilarious memories. Living the dream.
Now, I’m turning twenty-nine in a couple weeks. Which is basically thirty. Which is basically middle-aged. Menopause is on the horizon, and I still don’t have my life figured out.
“How’s everything at the cabin?” Dad asks, interrupting my spiral.
“Great.” A lie.
“Need help with anything?”
“No, I’ve got it.” Another blatant lie. My voice is pitched too high. There’s probably A Look passing between them right now.
Dad clears his throat. “You know, if the A-frame is getting to be too much work...” A pause. He totally heard the truth beneath my lies. “We can sell it. Gramps wouldn’t want it to be a burden.”
The solid ground beneath me wobbles. A sharp pain shoots through my stomach. Iplace my hands over it like that might help.
“He would understand,” Mom adds. “His memory lives in our hearts, even if the A-frame doesn’t make it.”
