INDCP

I think about my Grandma all the time.

It's really incredibly strange to think I haven't seen her in 16 years because she is as clear as can be in my head. I remember her skin and her hair, the texture of both. I remember what holding her hand felt like. I remember she smelled like Oil of Olay and Lancôme Tresor. I remember her facial expressions and her smile and her laugh. Man, she got mad at me a lot when I was a teenager!

It's weird that when I think of her, little specific moments come to my head. Her in her white shorts. Her sitting at the kitchen table writing in her journal. Mostly, I remember her standing against the front wall of Menard's waiting to pick me up from work one day. That always sticks out and I can't figure out why. Maybe because it was one of the last times I saw her.

She was so petite and proper and the best caretaker in the world. I think of her all the time now when I get into bed with dirty feet or talk too much on the phone or do anything in general that she disliked.

A few days ago, I stood in a window with a mirror and tweezers to pluck at my face and I stopped in my tracks because I remember her doing exactly the same thing. I was even holding them at exactly the same angles that she used to. Sometimes I wonder if that means I'm programmed just like her. She hadn't had children by my age either. Maybe that's why I don't. Maybe I'll follow her exactly and I'll be a good caretaker and I'll be calm in my old age and I'll think of everyone else before myself. I'll worry too much and I'll obsess about my hair and clean sheets. I'll constantly play cards, make really good chili and tell my grand kids I love them and they need to slow down more.

Sounds about right. I hope.