Careful–or not. You don’t be careful, you’re going to wind up dead. Every time Grandma spoke to me like that, I tried to show her that I still cared about my life and that I was not reckless. But she was right, I would end up dead…in fact, I did end up dead; that’s how I’m telling this story now, from a grave which is sort of like memory, sort of like anticipation. No matter what I did, she was right: careful was not careful enough, the bug got me or the fall crumpled me or the bullet pierced or the car swerved off the road, into some poor tree. Written in the stars, written on the wall, and Grandma knew it. She tried to protect me from the inevitable, so far did her grandmotherliness extend, to the impossible, to the daunting beyond daunting. I told her on our last day together–that’s when I first noticed how gray my grandmother’s hair had become, asked myself whether I was slow to notice or whether age had finally caught up with her, or whether she merely stopped dyeing her hair, stopped caring to dye–our last day when I wasn’t haunting her from the chorus of the shades, which I would be soon, I told her Grandma, look. I loved speaking to my grandmother frankly as she did me, so I said, picking up my voice with an unwarranted confidence Look, Grandma–you’re right. I finally told her You’re right, and I would change my ways if I could, I would stop from coming what must come, what has to come, if I could. But I can’t, see? Grandma smiled, as though I finally understood her warning, which had seemed so simple and straightforward before. I’m going to live and I’m going to make mistakes and I’m going to die…end of story. Then I will do it again, and what shall I do with the opportunity to start all over? The same–live, make mistakes, then die, over and over again. Thanks, Grandma, for caring for me still–condemned as I am! Grandma’s smile at me turned into beaming, like we finally understood one another, like I finally knew…. And I do, admiring her from this ghostly distance now….
13 responses to “Careful–or not”
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And grandma’ was allllllways right! I know that now ❤
"I loved speaking to my grandmother frankly as she did me, so I said, picking up my voice with an unwarranted confidence Look, Grandma–you’re right. I finally told her You’re right,"
And when you picked up your voice it better only be to say she was right lol
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Beautifully expressed, Richard. When I was growing up we used to hear “It’s all fun and games until someone loses an eye.” 😂
“I’m going to live and I’m going to make mistakes and I’m going to die…end of story. Then I will do it again, and what shall I do with the opportunity to start all over?” I love this!
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Brilliant. I’ve heard that one about the eyes, too! I remember my grandma saying it to me once when I was getting stitches at my uncle’s doctor’s office, after my brother threw this giant pool ball at me in my uncle’s pool and my head hit the edge. My grandma knew her comedic timing!
Thank you, sweet life.
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” I’m going to live and I’m going to make mistakes and I’m going to die…end of story. Then I will do it again, and what shall I do with the opportunity to start all over? The same–live, make mistakes, then die, over and over again.”. So true, and yet people fear death, though its the oldest comrade of the soul.
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The expression “the oldest comrade of the soul” for death is a perfect one. I have had countless thoughts on death but the overriding one is that we share death with all things, and I find something glorious in that.
Thank you so much for reading this piece, and for your response. A response that is already entering into my lexicon!
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Stacey C. Johnson 
locksley2010 
Love the Dust 
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