Sisters..

This is to lead up into chapter 4. Chapter 4 in about grief, I am taking you into this chapter gradually by this introduction; because this up coming chapter is very deep and heavy, so lets start on the surface and then I will take you down deep emotionally.

My sisters and I have always used humor to deal with hardship. My sister’s Sharon and Christina loved how I delt with men. I always had trouble taking crap from guys; I think impart because I was a tomboy growing up and I always felt; even at a young age how we were socialised as girls to take thier crap. It seemed to me that guys were aloud to stay kids forever and girls had to grown up into women. It just isn’t fair. But to stand up for men; I do love that about them, I love that they know how to play and find adventure in everything. I liked to play with boys when I was a girl because you always knew were a guys stood on subjects; they just told you stait up what was what. But I have found that society doesn’t like it when women do this; for a woman to be a strait shooter she is called a bitch. I guess I am a bitch to most guys and maybe gals too. I like to tell it like it is; with me you don’t get wishy/washy, sometimes I do realize I can be to forward and through the years I have learned to hold back some; but it is really hard sometimes.

When the guy I was emailing called me phyco this what I really wanted to email back to him:

Thanks to you I have my Granny panties on……..signed….PHYCO

I know my sister Sharon would have loved it!

Sharon always loved it when I told a guy strait up in a funny way what I though about him and his shit.

But Sharon is gone. She died about 3 years ago now; it is times like that when I wish I could call her up and ask her ” do you think I should send that email?” knowing well enough that she would say ” YA! tell me what he writes back.. if he is gonna call you phyco then be one!” Then we would laugh hyserically about it and talk about how stupid men are.

We would make up all kinds of ways that he would react; what he would tell his friends and so on, the entire time trying not to pee ourselves laughing. She would say ” Gracie I just love it when you do that; you don’t let guys tell you who you are.” Then we would look up music on youtube like the new song from Kelley Clarkson ” Mr. Know it all” Sharon would love that song and she would sing it well too, she was an amazing singer.

Once again when my ex bluffed me; saying he wanted to sign the orginal Separation Agreement; that was done-up fair and square; I wanted to call her up with my relief and happiness that it was almost over. I miss her soo much.

To make light of death is called dark humor. We experienced a time like that when our Grandmother died. Our Grandma hated her nose; all her life she was teased even by her own family. They called her beaky or bird nose. She always complained about her nose when we took pictures, she was trying to get herself at a good angle.lol

At her grave site her coffin lay open above the grave; it was this time of year, November. It was windy and a huge gust of wind slammed the coffin shut and flattened her nose! The Pastor was mortified! We all gasped! But then Sharon, Christina I looked at each other and we started to laugh; of course no one knew what the heck we were laughing about; this was horrible. We told everyone about what Grandma thought about her nose and then we told everyone that we thought it was Grandma’s spirit that slammed that coffin shut, cause; she was going into the ground with the nose she wanted!

It was a few years later that Sharon went to my Grandmothers grave to put silk red Christmas flowers into the ground to remember her on Christmas. Little did Sharon know that with in a few short weeks she too was ready for the grave.

My intuition told me that it would be the last time that I would see her; I kissed her hand as she took some of her last breaths on her hospital bed. I tried to take in her scent knowing I would never smell her hair again; knowing that I would never see the shape of her lips or help her paint her finger nails; as her sister through out our lives I had painted her nails many times. I had done her hair and helped her pick out what to wear when we went out dancing. I would never hear her sing again or have her hug me. I tried with all my might to memorize her in every way. I walked down the bright hospital hallway knowing this was goodbye.

On the way home I stopped at my Grandmother’s grave and looked at the red flowers and WEPT

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