He told me the other day that he had a dream. He came upon a cemetery, one that he had never been to before, one that probably didn't really exist. It was within this sanctuary that he said my grandmother's presence told him, Kathy never comes to see me anymore. He had never met my grandmother. Then, he began to recall the feeling of something cold pressing down against his thigh, like a hand, so cold that it woke him up from this sleep. It's true though. I don't visit much. Maybe it's because I know she is not there. There is no soft spoken voice there to tell me her stories of younger days. There is no warm embrace to pull me in from the cold wind that whips around me as I sit there beside the plaque that bares her name. But I did go to see her today. Her great-grand daughter beside me wondering where her Mama's Tutu is. She is asleep, I say. Her response, When she wake up, she coming to see me? I didn't know what to say. Yes, I said. Someday.
[**added on February 24th] I reread this post. Thinking about how I answered my toddler's question. What I should've said was that my grandmother was in Heaven right? Because I know she is. I've began to think about my faith again. My fellowship with God is not where it used to be. I know this. But the ice is melting. The colors of life are slowing resurfacing. In my heart, I know I will feel that warmth again.