The Window

The night we buried my grandmother I returned home exhausted and angry. I was mad at my parents for putting my grandmother in a nursing home. I was angry at the people at the nursing home for letting her die. I was angry at my grandmother for leaving without telling me goodbye, and I was angry at myself for not being there for my grandmother’s final hours.

With tears slipping down my cheeks, I buried my head under my pillow to block out the crickets outside my window.  I fell asleep thinking about my lost confidant, my dear friend, my loving grandmother.

In my dream, I was walking through my grandmother’s house. This wasn’t the sterile nursing home where she had spent the last few months of her life, but the cozy yellow bungalow where she had lived the previous seventy years. I breathed in the familiar scent of lavender as I wandered through the familiar rooms. In the front room I came to the cabinet where my grandmother had kept a collection of tiny bells, and as I gazed at them, I thought I heard them tinkling. Wondering why they weren’t collecting dust, I turned to discover, sitting in her favorite recliner, my grandmother watching me. 

“I was waiting for you to visit.” She told me with a sad smile.

“I’m sorry it took me so long. With school and work and my young family, it’s getting harder and harder to get away.” My excuse sounded lame, but my grandmother just stretched her arms to enfold me in a hug. 

“I understand.” She said. “I didn’t want to leave without telling you goodbye, but some things just can’t wait.” My eyes stinging with tears, I nodded. She smiled that warm smile that always brings comfort to my soul, and then, clutching my hand, she climbed to her feet. “It’s time for me to go now. But remember that no matter what, I love you, and I’ll always be watching over you.” 

I watched her walk out a door through which I could not follow, and then I turned to the window for a last glance. Through the sparkling glass I saw, not the suburban street I expected, but a road paved with gold and lined with trees dancing in the breeze. My grandmother walked down the front walk, not by herself, but hand in hand with a handsome gentleman I recognized as my grandfather, who had passed on a decade before.  I saw other people gathering to join them. Some I recognized from their yellowed photos in grandmother’s ancient scrap books, but there were many others who I didn’t know, but my grandmother obviously did. Her eyes were beaming as she laughed and called out to dear friends and family members. 

As I stepped back from the window and woke up, I realized I wasn’t angry any more.  Through the window, I had seen that my grandmother was in a happy place, and I was happy for her.

(I submitted this fictional story as my first homework assignment for my Creative Writing class.)