OYM Day 99: Saying Goodbye

Then I think of my grandmother, swollen from water, pain meds, and lying too still for too many days. I think of my red 1991 Firebird, packed to the gills with things I thought I needed to start a new life in the South West, like a new, itchy comforter from Big Lots, an old green trunk full of every note ever passed to me in high school, and a bunch of cut-off shorts. The essentials, really.

I think of drunken hugs and blurred mascara. I think of tapping my toe on the thin-carpeted floor of a funeral home and hesitating to approach my grandfather’s casket. I dry heaved into the toilet minutes afterwards. His skin was ice cold when I kissed his cheek. And not knowing if he would or could read the note I slipped into the silk lining of his new home made me panic. Grandpa, I hope you read it.

Me, after a hard goodbye and thinking about too many goodbyes

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Cassie Jean Wells

Cassie Jean Wells

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35/F/Las Vegas — Not a dutch milkmaid as picture may suggest. Question? Ask me anything. Info@oymandtrustme.com