I am at work right now, and one of my naughtiest students is trying to cheat on a game again. She always tries this with every game. She is a cute little girl. Somebody does her hair very nicely every day. She’s gonna be a little heartbreaker when she grows up.
This has been a semester, y’all. I have never in the history of my life had a semester like this. I’m exhausted.
The people at Holyoke Community College are charming. Absolutely charming. They are so sweet and kind and just nothing at all like the people at any other college I have ever been to. Every conversation I start with an 18-year-old boy ends with me actually wanting to be friends with him. The professors are so adorable. Perhaps I was just lucky and ended up with the most adorable ones. Everything my math professor does makes me fall more in love with him. He draws beautiful things. He says beautiful things. Even the way he makes fun of us seems beautiful.
I love how easy it is for them to show their love for me, whether or not they are aware of it. Without hesitation, people will ask me if I’m free to hang out, or to get dinner. They tell me they know how smart I am. They notice when I’m not there. They ask me if I need help. I feel attractive and good and appreciated.
I wish I could always remember these things about myself. Because heading into this holiday season, I am once again doing something emotionally exhausting.
This year over the holidays, I am going to India to visit my grandparents. My grandfather has dementia that has progressed quite far. I have not seen him in 4 years, but he has had dementia now for my last few visits to India. I remember when I went alone at the age of 12, he was just starting to forget things. He couldn’t remember when his birthday was. Slowly, the number of things he’s forgetting is increasing. I remember once when I was in college or maybe after I had graduated, he was asking for me on the phone. He said he wanted to hear his first grandchild. I think that’s the reason why he knows I exist. I was there before the memory loss.
I’m supposed to stay with my mother’s family, a group of people who are not good at showing their love. Or perhaps more accurately, they can, but you have to know what you’re looking for.
My mom says that my grandfather was a very strict man with his three children. He was the one who enforced discipline. His children were scared of him. But I never experienced that side of him. By the time I was born, he was retired. I first visited him when I was 11 months old. I learned to walk in front of him. He visited me in Florida when I had grown a little older. I was 3 or 4 years old. My brother had been born by then. He liked playing ball with me. He would bounce a beach ball off his head for me to catch, like a soccer player. He gave me a little red stuffed rabbit. I still have it in one of my bureaus.
He liked explaining things to me when I was younger. I remember we used to take walks around the garden and he would show me different flowers and fruits and butterflies.
My brother is very hesitant to go. He’s anxious about how seeing Koka will affect my mom. He is already trying to be detached. I have every intention of treating that man like my grandfather. That is who he is.
I just wish my other relatives could remember I want connection with him, too. I know they will clamor, create lots of noise because that is what anxious people do in my family. They are not the only ones who lose him. When he’s gone, I lose him, too.
I try to remain optimistic about how this trip will go. I hope I will be able to take lots of photos and videos of good times because that’s how I want Koka’s last years of life to go, with lots of fun and laughter. These are some of the last years, though. I try to share that with the people who can hold it with me, so that I can hold some of my family’s feelings even if they can’t do the same for me.