Singing to my Grandma

June 14, 2013
By baileymullen BRONZE, Cheney, Washington
baileymullen BRONZE, Cheney, Washington
3 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
I've got a couple dents in my fender, got a couple rips in my jeans, try to fit the pieces together, but perfection is my enemy! ~Francesca Batiscelli

My grandma always used to tell me the story of the first time she met me. I was a little over a year old, and I didn’t like anybody, my mom was afraid to let me meet her because she didn’t think I would like Grandma Alice. My grandma always used to tell me that when I walked in the front door, she was sitting on the couch. I began to walk towards her unsteadily like a typical one year old. I walked across the tiles in front of our fireplace and I stumbled. She always told me that right then, I stumbled into her heart. She was so afraid that I would fall, but I didn’t. I finally made it to the couch, she scooped me up and held me in her arms. From that moment on, I was her little girl.

Even though she lived in California and Arizona for most of my childhood, we kept in touch. We talked on the phone every couple of weeks and sent cards for special occasions. She always wanted to know what was going on in my life from, school, to my friends, to boys, to my weekend and summer plans, and everything in between. No matter how far away she was, we always stayed close. She came to live with my family in March of this year, when I was on spring break. I came home the day after she arrived, and the first thing I did was run to her room. We were so happy to see each other that both of us were crying happy tears. From that point on, if I was home, I was usually in her room. Sometimes we talked, sometimes I did homework while she slept, and other times we would watch golf, tennis, or the doctors. But my favorite times, and I think hers too, were when I sang to her.

I’ve always loved singing, I’ve been in choir for 4 years, and she knew about my passion for music but she had never heard me sing. My choir was doing a medley of the songs from the popular movie and play, Les Miserables, and there was a solo I wanted in the song, I Dreamed a Dream. It turned out to be one of her favorite songs, because a favorite singer of hers, Susan Boyle did a cover of it. She insisted that I sing for her, practice for solo auditions. After that she wanted to hear other choir songs, and then my favorite country songs, and anything I felt like singing for her. Sometimes my voice got hoarse, and sometimes my throat started hurting after a while, but I could spend hours holding her hand and singing to her. It was our special time together, and I sang to her every day.

The morning before she died, I spent about 20 minutes singing to her before I left for school. That was the last time I sang for her. I ended up not getting the solo in choir, but that didn’t matter, because I already have so many memories attached to that song, all of them involving singing to her. Her memory is everywhere for me. In I Dreamed a Dream, in the room she had in our house, the perfume that she always wore, and even in the taste of the oranges and cantaloupe she adored. I miss her every day. Our conversations, watching golf, and the look she always got when I walked into the room. The big smile and, “Hi! How’s my girl?” I always got. But on the days that I miss her the most, I listen to the songs we both liked, or spray some of her perfume, or eat some cantaloupe. Because when I do those things, I remember her the most. Even though she’s gone, I do these things and I remember that I’m still somebody’s little girl. Hers.

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