I know I just posted about my grandmother, but it dawned on me that I had some more to say…
I’ve spent a lot of time with family lately. A lot of time actually. They all call me “Jenny”…always have. It dawned on me that no man, in none of my relationships, have ever called me “Jenny”. They’ve called me Jen, hun, babe, Jennifer… but never Jenny. In my twenties, I hated being called that. It felt like something you call a little girl.
I love it. It’s dawned on me that I have this odd secret hope that someday, someone who loves me will whisper sweetly in my ear “Jenny…”. Maybe that will be the sign… a man who is brave enough to use that name (without being prompted by me of course) might just be a worthy man.
Random thoughts, I know… but I had to share regardless.
When I was watching my grandmother go in and out between sleep and awake today, I also couldn’t help but wonder. We know that she could hear us. What must it be like to lay there, listening to your children talk about how they’re going to pull the machines? What must it be like to know that your death is imminent? Is it peaceful? Relief? Would you be flooded with fear? Memories of the past? Is there pain? Maybe not even physical pain, but emotional pain? I hope, that it is a peaceful moment. Perhaps reflective of all the lovely experiences you’ve had, of the people who you love and who’ve loved you.
Alright… goodnight for real this time Neverland.