Our parents should live forever: A freestyle in prose

My great-aunt Thelma (left) and my grandmother Velma Ewing as teenagers (Mississpissi 1940-something)

Our parents should live forever.

I really miss my Grey.

I thought I was doing better
until a quick shot of BB King on the TV
made me remember
a time I was with my grandmother
helping her clean
while we listened to BB King.
And Bobby Blue Bland.

She use to love her some Bobby Blue Bland.  When we were older, we always use to try and get her tickets to see him at the Star Theatre.  She loved going there for her birthday.

And my heart ached so badly again.

It's a year and a half later.
I still can't get through a full thought
without tears streaming down my face
and my heart breaking all over again.

It wouldn't be so bad
if it just didn't hurt so much.

I long to hold her hands again.

I think that's what I loved most.
The times when it was just me and her
no aunts,
no cousins,
no great-grandchildren,
no daughters.

Just me and my Grey.

Sometimes, watching a Lifetime movie,
she knew all the words.

Sometimes, sitting at the breakfast bar
while she cooked Sunday breakfast
and Sunday dinner at the same time.

She taught me how to shuck peas,
break beans,
fry chicken
and hull corn. 

We bought them all at the vegetable market that morning. Everyone came over after church each Sunday.  She also shared her recipe for her signature 7UP pound cake with me one year, but I'm just not good at baking.

I miss helping her.

Taking out the garbage,
picking something up from the store,
folding her clothes

esp. the freshly dried towels
or pillowcases and sheets
that still smell like Grey.
Grey's kitchen.
Grey's room.
Grey's house.

My heart still broken.

I never knew it would be like this.

I thought it would only hurt
for a few days,
a few weeks at the most.

Never several months
or more than a year
later.

Now I just wonder
when will the pain stop?
When do the tears stop?
And when does my heart stop breaking?

Our parents should live forever.