Gift Giver

I used to always doodle the number 85. Whenever on the phone, I doodle, if pen and paper are within reach, and for years, the number 85 appeared all over the page. I would look at the notepad or scrap piece of paper and cock my head. 'I wonder what 85 means?' No clue. But there are years worth of 85s scribbled on this piece and that, they float up and around every now and then, and it leads me again to the thought, 'What does that signify? 1985, I was 5... nope, nothing stands out. Nick's dad was 86 when he died, not 85. Hmmm.'

I still come up empty. I'll never know why that number is at the forefront of my mind, or was so. I seem to doodle other things lately. Which got me thinking, 'Maybe it represented my Edna.' She was 85 when she left us. She would be 86 today.

It's her birthday.

A few nights ago, in the wee hours of the morning, I finished writing and washed my face and put on my p.j.s, hopped into bed, happy. As is always the case when I finish writing, especially before bed. It sends me to sleep in an element of bliss. But, as I have noted before, I often become still and when my eyelids fall down, I'll see some things. I've asked around. I'm not the only who does this. Others have told me this happens to them as well.

When I saw her, I jumped. I twitched. My body kind of raised off the mattress for a splinter of time. There she was, my grandmother, standing right in front of me, like a moving photograph. She was a little different than I remember her being as she left us though.

She was there, her skin taunt, her face rounded, with blushed cheeks and rosy lips. I immediately thought 'Oh, you look so beautiful. And you're wearing lipstick and blush!' Her hair looked nice and fixed, short still, and brown but with a distinct reddish tint, which left an impression on me, I thought of it for a long while. I had not known her hair to be any such color, but then again, she was my grandmother... her hair was most often gray when I knew her. Her face was pale, really beautifully fair, but it was her eyes that really drew my attention. Dark, twinkling eyes. I can't remember if glasses were on her face, if so, they were thin rimmed glasses, because her eyes radiated. I had a good long moment to look at her. I had many thoughts pounce on her appearance at the same time. The thoughts took in her outfit, another aspect of her I had never witnessed. I'd seen similar cuts on her, so I identified with that, but not the style. I don't even know what to call this type of blouse, but it was satin, short-sleeved, half kimono style/half sheath, v-neck, long (hip bone length) and boxy . It was something Dianne Wiest would be seen wearing. It was black, with a white fan pattern, and piped in red around the sleeves and neck details. She had on dark red pants and she looked really nice. It was distinct. Her clothing had a Japanese flair and was very casual in cut, but decadent in material. I've never seen her in such, until this vision. I held on to that.

She stood in her way, a posture I can't quite describe, it is just my grandmother's stance. It projects a gracious quality, with an ease and openness toward others, while also being firmly grounded. She seemed to me to be confident in her ways, but open to others' ways. And I always gathered that her openness came from this confidence. Physically, I'd say she had sturdy legs and somewhat slack shoulders, they sloped more than lined up straight from one to the next, and her gestures were always contained. In this vision, she stood still, extending her left arm out as if making a gesture to someone sitting before her, someone I couldn't see, but if I guessed they would have been below me on the right. I saw her from a slight angle. She was in the middle of speaking to this person, or reacting to them, and her lips formed a tight, little o.

Now, where she was standing is a bit complicated to describe. Edna was in her living room, yet nowhere. She was standing against what seemed to me like moving space. She was still, but appeared to going backward because the space around her was coming forward. And this was transparent, layered upon another transparency. Her living room. She was also standing partially in front of her broom closet, the tiny closet in the living room that held such mystery and magic for me as a little girl. Grandma always had things in there, some okay for me to mess with, some not. She had the Yahtzee game (I still hold this record I think! It's my pride and joy! My score is still on the side of the box where I wrote it for it to claim my spot in Dunaway Yahtzee history for all of time!) and the deck of cards in there. And every now and then she would send us to get something from that closet that she needed. I loved that wooden closet in her wooden room with the floor that looked like that (now) vintage puzzle with pieces in shapes of heart ends. She placed a dog sculpture over there by the closet or one of the doors near the closet. I always tried to make him real. (She loved dogs too, as I do. She had a best friend, Maggie. Maggie helped her, I believe... like Shakti helped Nick's father, Ghighi... like they all help someone.)

Do those details matter? Details in dress, in face, in hair? To me they do. She was real- in front of me- detailed- long enough for me to study and absorb and feel as though I know, for sure, my grandmother is so happy that her eyes dance. Through all that time and space, I can see her eyes dance.

I opened my eyes, looked up at the ceiling, grabbed my phone and looked at the time. You could guess it. 2:11 AM. Day? December 11th. And I sent a text to my dad then, who probably never knows what to make of me and all my random remarks, "I just saw your mom! She looked truly wonderful. Thought you'd like that. Night!" I knew she picked those numbers for me to see on purpose. She always knew I was into symbols and signs and we had a couple of talks about things like dreams not too long before she left. It felt so good to share that. Dreams are intimate and to share them really means something. She said to me, "I'm going to tell you this, because I know you understand." Then she told me some dreams she had and what she had thought about them and what transpired since. Which led to many stories about her childhood- some that I never knew. I learned a lot from that dream she experienced, and she seemed to as well. I do believe in these things, such things as dreams meaning much more than sleeping entertainment. And, I wondered after, how she came to know so much about me, with me saying so little about such things. I don't go around inviting discussion on dream interpretation or my thoughts and feelings of the soul. But she knew me... does know me. She came to me for me to see her, not on her birthday, but on mine. She came the way she lived, thinking of others first and foremost. She gave me a gift.

I called my dad to wish her a happy birthday. What else was I to do? I knew he would be wanting to place a call and wouldn't have his mom on the other line, so I called him and we talked about her. I told him all about the dream I had and then, when I was done, I looked at my phone- seems to be a habit I have- and it was 2:11 PM. And I cackled, "Oh, she's funny!" I know it sucks even worse for him and his brothers and sister. As much as we grandkids miss her, I know it's harder for her children. She was strong. She had the kind of strength that doesn't shows itself with sharpness, but gentle ways instead. That quality in another, once enjoyed, is painful to lose.

She is missed. But, more so, loved.

Happy Birthday, Edna. Thank you for your life.