bad weeds

I opened my phone after a meeting to a message from Mum saying that Nonna had passed peacefully. I would have been having a conversation about image choices for a research training slide deck when it happened. my first thought was to tell my colleague I mightn’t be able to attend a workshop in person next week, depending on the date of the funeral. the practical takes the wheel. I leave the heart in the backseat for now.

I called Mum when she woke. she grieves in the village where her mother was born. her cousins are with her. Dad and Isaiah too. I want to hug her and cry into her shoulder, to have her cry with me. next week I will hold her hand and watch them lower her mother into the soil right beside the spot they chose for her father so long ago. I remember wondering why everyone was sad. apparently I ran a matchbox car up his arm in the hospital. ‘look Nonno, what do you think of my car?’ I didn’t know he had stopped breathing. I could still see him.

I was lucky to see her last month. she laughed a lot and kissed me on the cheek. her favourite saying in her final years was ‘bad weeds never die’. Dad said she must have been a flower. if there’s peace to be found anywhere, I hope she’s there now.