There’s a moment I think about often. Sitting in my car in Costco’s parking lot on a grey Seattle Saturday in October a few years back. Chainlink fence and train tracks in front of me. A still sunkenness inside, my hands not wanting to leave the steering wheel and open the door. Outside, a blur of movement. Chaos. Screeching tires, wet pavement. Grinding metal, uneven cart wheels. Blinkers blinking.
Just minutes earlier, I had let go of my grandmother’s hand for the last time after she passed away. Now, here I was, sitting in my car with humanity swirling around me, going about their day as if nothing had happened. A huge gaping hole had been left in the world and people were pushing oversized shopping carts with giant stuffed bears teetering on top through a maze of traffic.
It was such an odd moment. Not exactly a sad moment. More of an “Oh, this is how it is” moment. That gaping hole, I’m sitting alone in it for a good reason. It was formed from so many years close to her and from being with her in that intimate moment when she transitioned from physical being to living in the hearts of those who were lucky enough to know her.
With that moment in mind, I made this.
