As a Story Terrace writer, Kena interviews customers and turns their life stories into books. Get to know her better by reading her autobiographical anecdote below
As a teenager, I often crashed at my grandmother’s house. She believed in me. She knew me well, but spelled my name wrong. With 20 grandkids, it’s forgivable. She also knew that despite my teenage angst, I needed love.
One day my grandmother, my mom and I went to see Titanic. Soon after the opening credits the two of them were bawling. I was too rough and tumble to cry at movies. And, there was nothing to cry about….yet. An elderly woman had tossed a necklace of the most profound blue into the ocean in the opening scene. Only five minutes in and I was trapped sitting between my mom and my grandma, two rivers flowing with unending empathy. By mid-film, I was shocked they had tears left to purge. My eyes remained dry but they insisted one day my heart would thaw.
At the time, it was pretty accurate. I was cold, hawk-eyed and future-focused. With Grandma’s help getting a car, I pushed through college, still spending time at her home regularly. During one stay I answered the phone, greeted by a sweet voice asking for Anne. His name was Bob. They met square dancing. He asked me for permission to take her on a date. As her granddaughter, who was I to grill him? I was impressed that I was asked at all.
Fast forward a few years later, I was invited to the sweetest wedding I’ve ever seen. My grandmother found love late in life and showed us all what it should look like. She kissed Bob, her husband-to-be, before the minister gave her permission. We all had a good chuckle at it. She couldn’t contain her happiness, and why should she? That day produced my favorite family photo. My grandmother, arm stretched high, launching the bouquet behind her to my delight and other younger granddaughters, all dreaming of one day finding our own happiness.
As I remember her fondly, I picture that one woman in her latest moments boldly throwing her past into the ocean, and my grandmother tossing her flowery hopes to the future. I miss her just watching the endless lot of us at gatherings, thoughtful and smiling. She’s been gone for 10 years. I still think of her often, wondering what she’d tell me to toss into the sea and if she will still catch me when I need it.
