I Reckon We were Heathens, but in Her Eyes We were Saints

I think I'm letting myself feel something after too long on ice. The result is that I'm feeling all the things I froze out for months trying to protect myself and survive. So now it's the good, bad, and ugly that I've been pretending wasn't there. The same thing I couldn't understand in someone else. The same thing I criticized like it was some kind of choice. Sometimes you and someone else are just too much alike to get along too well. Like siblings in that eternal power struggle.

Two nights in a row, I've dreamed. Or two nights that I've remembered them. I so rarely remember dreams. And I dreamed this one in color and more. With a surprise special guest appearance.

It was me and the guys, out at a bar. I don't recall what I was wearing beyond that I had to keep pulling it back into place and I regretted not wearing something with a little more fabric and a little less trouble. The theme lately has been stepping out of my comfort zone. I'll never get used to anyone telling me I should wear less and even if I want to please them, my entire upbringing bucks every time I show an inch of skin.

I had this sky blue leather moto jacket and I was grateful for it. I remember the exact color and the stitching along the rows of curved, rolled side seams. I remember that the leather wasn't soft as lambskin, but not too stiff. I remember the way it smelled. Leather is my favorite smell, second to horses.

We were let in and I sat at a table. I was putting something back together in my lap, a small plastic case of some sort. The guys were waiting for me and I told them to go on along and I'd follow directly. I'd just gotten it back together and a shadow fell across my lap. I looked up and Nanny was standing there. She was smiling like she always did and I think my heart turned a few somersaults. Of course, I dropped whatever I was doing and jumped up (evidently my knee didn't hurt in my dreams either). I wrapped her little body in my arms, just like always. Her little bones always felt like a bird to me. I was always afraid to hug her too hard because I thought surely I'd just crush her.

I leaned down and put my chin on her head like always. I could feel her hair. I could smell her. She always wore the same face cream and it has a distinct aroma. Not unpleasant or strong, just unique. She always liked smelling nice and in the last decade or so, she took to wearing Cool Water. She didn't smell at all like an old lady. That scent was the gut punch and I started crying and my own tears shook me awake. I've been crying since. 

I'm so damn good at grief that I forget sometimes to do it. Which is exactly what that brother I've acquired against my will told me. To slow down and feel it. I get hung up in the details that go along with loss, like remembering how many great-grandchildren Nanny had or what her mother's name was so that the funeral director could write her obituary. I wish they'd let me write it. Y'all, I don't care if you tell the whole, ugly truth in mine, but don't let a stranger write it.

I'm so glad I got to hug her again. You never expect to get that chance. And it was as real as if she were really in my arms. Sitting here writing, I heard a cardinal. I can hear her now telling me how to recognize one by its call. "Pretty, pretty, pretty." She loved them. Called them "redbirds" and you know, they say that cardinals are folks coming back to see you. I guess that means I got to see her twice.