In a new scene I’m writing, Rose recalls her grandmother‘s jar collection and the story Grandma Dee had for each one of the jars. They would have tea together as Rose listened. It was during one of these times that Rose learned about a God who loved her. Rose eventually rejects this God — her childhood pains required this, she told herself — but, thankfully, He doesn’t reject her.
I did not know either of my grandmothers. I met them both, but I was too young to remember feeling a loving touch or having a conversation that might influence the course of my life. I do have fond memories of my Grandma Mamie. She lived in Ohio and her long-distance phone calls were highly anticipated by her six grandchildren. She would regularly send us gifts and one of these has stuck in my mind since I received it when I was no more than five years old: a transistor radio, which was the coveted piece of technology in the mid-1960’s. A vivid memory I have is laying on the grass in our backyard, staring up at the clouds, my transistor radio at my ear, and listening to Sukiyaki, a song sung in Japanese.
Story writing is the method I use to create what I missed out on in life or to change my experiences into how I wished they had been for me — a super power I own that has healed many emotional wounds.
My grandmother will visit with me, in a way, through my stories.