The Woman Next Door

When I was growing up, we had the nicest neighbor. Her house was in between the bus stop and our house. I would ride the bus home every day and I would walk right into the living room of our neighbor and I would talk talk talk about my day and she would listen, really listen. She would sometimes give me a snack too and she always seemed to know just the right question to ask, you know, all the ones you hope someone will ask you when you are little. I would leave through her kitchen door and cross her yard, squeeze through a fence and walk into my own home.
The woman next door loved pink and you would always get the best compliments from her when she saw you in a sweet, pink shirt. The woman next door was a marvelous cook.
The woman next door was a dear friend to me for my entire life.
You see, that woman next door was my Grandma. And oh how I adored her. And that childish adoration and love have carried over into my adult years and I find myself still trying to find a pink shirt to wear when I am going to see her. I still remember the way her eyes would light up when I was telling a tall tale, actually it's not that hard to remember because she still looks at me like that when we talk.

My husband snapped this picture at my cousin's graduation. I have no idea what we were saying but that's us. That's the way it has been between us for as long as I can remember.

Lately, when I see my Grandma I am sad and confused and a bit... adrift. You see she is getting old. The oxygen tank is her closest companion now. Her hearing is bad. Age has rubbed some of her sparkle off. It's like this:  walking up to a place that I know has Grandma I think of her and how she had dark hair and how she looked frying donuts or how we used to sit and eat buttered crackers and chicken noodle soup together and I expect THAT Grandma when I walk in the door. But then I see the Now Grandma emerge from under the Memory Grandma and I am thrown off a bit. Taken aback. I need to re-adjust. But then I do. And we get a moment to talk and all of the sudden she is there, the same Grandma just with white hair and an oxygen tube in her nose. And she grabs my hand as we talk and laugh and I wonder how I could have ever been off balance.

I am moving to New Jersey soon. And it will take me far away from my Grandma, the woman that lived next door for my entire childhood. I fear that her time here with us is coming to a close and I am not sure how to proceed. I do know that I have loved her and that we were friends and that well... she was and is and always will be just... Grandma.
My Grandma.
The Woman next door.
My Secret Keeper.