Writer’s block showed up this week like an unexpected visitor that seriously overstayed their welcome. It got me thinking about a time when some “cousins” came to stay with my family back in the 90s. ::insert hard eye roll::
They stayed for what felt like forever. It was the experience that taught me that I could never live with a random roommate. Writer’s block is that random roommate living in my house right now – taking up my whole living room, eating chips on the couch, wiping the crumbs from his shirt onto my area rug, and belching loudly into the abyss with his mouth open.
I tried everything. I read books. I listened to some great playlists. I asked people for music. I left the house. I came back to the house. I smoked the herb. I ate the herb. I danced like nobody was watching and wouldn’t you know it – nothing. I had a moment of overwhelming gratitude for everything that is so good in my life and I sobbed because I was so happy and nothing came of that either!
So this morning – a day before my blog is scheduled to post, I still didn’t have a single thing I wanted to write about. I said fuck it, I’m cleaning the whole house. I went through all of the kitchen cabinets, got rid of a second toaster that’s just been wondering why the heck we use the inferior toaster all the time, emptied three drawers that had become i-don’t-know-where-this-goes-so-I’m-putting-it-here drawers, and convinced Ralph that we don’t need the George Foreman grill that we haven’t used since we got the air fryer.
I was moving and grooving, but after hours of going at it, I needed a break. Picked up my phone, was double-chinning on the couch looking at Instagram, and I got a text from my friend Kim. It was a video of her when she was a baby with her grandma.
We got to talking about crying and grandmas and then actual crying happened and I told her how much harder it was to lose my grandma than my grandpa. She was surprised, and honestly, so was I. My grandpa was the best. I can’t even tell you about it because now I have too much to write about. My relationship with Mamuchi was different. We had a bond over being only children and even though I hated her sometimes for saying things that made me feel insecure, I also adored her. I admired so many things about her and I sought her approval more than anyone else’s.
Mamuchi had Alzheimer’s. Towards the end of her life, we’d get into some conversation loops where I’d give her different answers to the same questions just so I wouldn’t grow impatient with having to repeat myself. During the final conversation loop that we shared, she had a moment of lucidity. She stepped out of Alzheimer’s for a few moments to tell me how proud of me she was. She said that I was beautiful and that she was worried that I was never going to mature because of how goofy I was (lol), but I did and she could see it. She told me how happy she was to get to spend a few moments with me.
That’s the last memory I have of Mamuchi. I didn’t get to hold her hand when she passed and I didn’t really get to say goodbye, but that was probably the best goodbye I could’ve ever asked for and I didn’t even realize it till today.
There are no mistakes. I was supposed to spend all week wondering what to write about so that I could stumble upon that beautiful memory that I had forgotten. I’ve spent so much time fussing about the things that we didn’t get to say to each other in her final days, but that memory is enough to last me a lifetime.
It feels a lot like that pesky roommate cleaned up after himself and left me a hot plate of dinner. Thanks, writer’s block. You really outdid yourself this time.