Ida
Got a text today from a friend of mine who I went to middle school with in the early 90’s. Back then I lived about 15 miles north of where I am now in Charlotte. I lived off a state highway that ran through the little truckstop of a town. There wasn’t a street sign for our road. We lived in a house that stood by itself on a gravel road accessed by driving through to the back of an eye doctor’s office parking lot. The house was a lonely little slate gray two bedroom place. Across from it there was a field that I used to ride my dirtbike in. All the way down the dead end gravel road there was a double wide trailer and an old white house that had a dilapidated porch and an apple tree next to it.
My brother and I used to walk down to pick apples and hang out with the widow who lived there. She’d tell us stories about what the area was like decades before. Stories about her family and herself from when she was younger. She’d show us her animals out back. Roosters, dogs, rabbits, all sorts of stuff. I used to dig her stories like I dug hearing my great grandmother talk when I was even younger. It wasn’t ever a chore or boring hanging out with her.
She’s my friend’s grandmother. She passed away this morning.
Goodbye, Ida. I’ll have an apple today for you.
Hey, sorry to hear.
Those intergenerational connections can be so good - glad you knew her.
Ida must have loved having you and your brother around to listen to her stories. Thanks. I enjoyed reading that.
That was beautiful and sad. I remember when my grandpa died. I felt hollow and quiet, I can’t explain it. You should do a painting, that always helps me.