My grandpa used to write things down. Every night. In this daily planner of sorts. It had a faux leather cover. The year was in gold. On the front. Near a corner. He sat in that rust red chair a lot of nights writing in it. I don’t think I ever dared to open one. Though I’ve always been curious. I hope they are in a box somewhere. I should ask my grandma.
My grandma…I keep thinking about her. That I don’t call enough. That when I do, it is always hard to talk like we used to. I know she is tired. She always has one eye on my grandpa, making sure he is okay. I feel guilty too…for not being there. I don’t want her to be reminded that I am not. To be in pain. But I have so many things to tell her. She used to be my best friend. I stopped treating her like that when their life changed. I didn’t want to be a burden. I wonder if I inadvertently was anyway. I have things to ask her too. I’m going to try letters.
I want to pass things on. The things I want to know from her…I want to give those to someone one day. I want to be able to recall when I remember, even if I need some help to do it. I want to have a way to check back in. With myself.
I want to write what happened.
In as many ways and formats as I can.
So, in 2019, I am RECORDing.