If I wrote about Gladys every time I thought of her, every time I could not contain the tears from filling my eyes and wetting my face, every time I felt the emptiness of my heart and the bittersweet images of old memories, then I probably would do very little besides writing. I am sad in so many levels, for so many things – from not talking to her more often when she was still alive to the selfishness of not being loved as I once was, unconditionally, infinitely, openly. I think few people in the world are lucky to be loved as I was. Whatever confidence I have today, whatever affirmation of self-worth, probably found its seed in that great love that warmed until so recently. And really, it still warms me every time I think of it.
Gladys died soon after her 89th birthday, a week after the doctor had told her she was in perfect health. I remember talking to her that last time. As often in her later years, she was afraid of death. Depressed because she could barely see (badly operated cataracts) and walking was painful. She was also bored and lonely. She could no longer go to play cards – her favorite activity during her retirement years – and her friends (mostly of her age) didn’t visit her often. And yet, Gladys loved life, she held on to it with all her strength. I don’t think she was as much afraid of death, as mourning for the life she’d lose.
It’s been a few days since I started this post, which I had to interrupt for one reason or another, and once again I’m thinking about Gladys and needing to write about her.
I always remember her the same way. Standing in front of the hallway in her apartment, her curly blond hair, a bit flat, I don’t know why. She’s wearing a white blouse and a thin red cardigan which matches her painted lips. She has dark pants. I can’t see her shoes, I don’t remember her shoes, but I think she may be on slippers. She is smiling, I can’t remember her face not smiling. Well, that’s not true, I can imagine her not smiling, but my memory of her is that one – standing with the red cardigan, a twinkle in her aqua-colored eyes and a smile.
I wish I had a picture, but the image is so clear on my mind.
It’s so difficult to remember sometimes that she’s gone, that she’s no longer part of my life, that I’m not fourteen anymore and we’ll never lie down on her bed again, watching late night TV. For so many years I didn’t think about that year and a half I spent living with her, and now it so often comes to my mind. With tears, and warmth.
I miss her.
I will write more about her, she occupies my thoughts so much. And I want her to exist, in memories if nothing else. I was talking to Lola a few days ago, and she noted how, in abandoning Christianity, I took on some elements of Ancient Egyptian religion. The concept that if you speak someone’s name, they continue to live. So I speak her name. Gladys. I love you.