in the sky with diamonds
she was smart… she was funny… and she was a fellow believer in copious amount of mascara. the level of my sadness at the passing of joan rivers has taken me by surprise.
she was smart… she was funny… and she was a fellow believer in copious amount of mascara. the level of my sadness at the passing of joan rivers has taken me by surprise.
she cried. tears pooling in the wrinkles at the corner of her eyes; begging me to help her. sneak her out when the nurses turned their backs. feeling like she was falling, she clutched and clawed at the bed.
like the paper thin skin of her hands, my grandmother’s eyes are almost transparent. i watch as they frantically dart around the room, desperate to focus and meet my gaze. they are pleading; begging me to understand a lifetime of tiny memories, of regrets, of little vignettes frozen in time.
Lately I find myself repeating the same advice to anyone in their early twenties: Start traditions with your friends. Traditions you adhere to year after year, no matter what.
some days, the only thing i really understand is music. loud, pulsating, irreverent rock and roll tearing through my internal solar system.