Peanut Butter Cookies & Peppermint Treats

When something is mentally bothering me you know it. I have always had this habit of biting or picking on my lips.
My mother use to tell me that I was going to get lip cancer if I didn’t stop it. I would pick until they bled. It was horrible.
I got better, but it went from my lips to my fingers. When things are really, really bad I get this thing on my nose that makes me look like I was attacked by wild birds. The thing on my nose is proportional to any guilt I am feeling for something I have done.

A couple of days ago my friend took me to Starbucks and flat out asked me, “What are you stressing about?”
I shrugged it off and said, “Nothing.” all the while chewing on my thumb.
She asked me if I would like a mirror. The lipstick had worn off on my latte straw and you could see how red my lip had gotten from the biting and picking.
“Are you trying to gnaw off your fingerprints too?”
I slowly removed my thumb mid bite.

“Lots of things.” I admitted.

My mom called me last weekend and said that they are going to spread my grandmother’s ashes this upcoming weekend.
I felt like someone had ripped out my heart.
For the past 13 years my grandmother’s ashes have been with my mom where they have been respected and safe.
For as long as I can remember, when my grandma was alive, my mom took care of her. She drove her to doctor appointments & the store. She cooked for her. She was the one my grandma called when she wanted to talk. During those last few years of her life my mom and dad moved her to their property so my mom was walking distance from her.
The thought of my grandma not being with my mom has hit me harder than I thought.

When my grandma died 13 years ago, it was hard not having closure. A funeral would have been great for that. As the years passed, I excepted the fact that she wouldn’t be there to call and ask those stupid questions to.
That woman was the smartest person I have ever met. She was a school teacher in Oakland, California. Honestly I would have dropped out of school if she was my teacher because she was one mean ass, but as a grandma she was the best.
She made cookies and always had cheap hard candies in her green tupperware bowls. She spanked me only once and it was because I helped Buffy Headrick light a fire out in the woods. She promised never to tell my parents and probably never did.

The thought of reaching out and taking her ashes doesn’t give me any sort of warm, fuzzy feelings. I don’t think dropping her ashes in the dirt is going to give me any closure.
In fact it feels like I am losing her again!

I haven’t told the girls. I’m not really sure how to explain that to them. I’m still waiting for someone to explain it to me.

If she were to call me on the phone, like she has so many times in my dreams, she would tell me to reach in there and just do it.
She would say, “Krissy, it’s just ashes. You told me you didn’t want me a grave, remember? I want this. You should respect that.”

I know this. My grandma was so much like my sister. She was level headed and calm. She was never about anything ‘drama’ (even though she liked her soap operas). She said her piece and if you didn’t agree with her – then you were wrong and you’d have to live with it. She would love to be able to say, “I told you so.”

My aunt and uncle will be there on Sunday and requested we spread my grandma’s ashes at my brother’s property. I have five days to come to terms with this.

Just let it be known, when Mom goes, we’re going to stuff her like Roy Rogers did to his horse Trigger and put her in the car so Kathy won’t have to drive alone across bridges and will be able to use the car pool lane.