"In life, we form bonds and relationships with those who've never experienced themselves in all seasons of life-at their highest and lowest points, in grief and sadness, happiness and anger. We expect people to know themselves coming into our lives...
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FEBRUARY.
"Nana," Sayori smiled as she entered her Grandmother's home, "Where are you?"
"In the kitchen," She heard her say.
Sayori closed the door behind her, heading to Annie's large kitchen. Some years before her husband passed away, Annie made him remodel the entire kitchen—knocking out the wall of a small, hall closet. It was much more spacious, and she loved to cook, it was Annie's favorite room in the house.
On the table were old scrapbooks—filled with postcards, pictures and more from Sayori's childhood. Handwritten letters addressed to Annie from Sayori—crafts from kindergarten and pre-school littered the laminated pages and piled toward the end. Every handmade Mother's Day card, handpicked flowers from outside—Annie had it all.
"Nana," Sayori's eyes widened, "You still have all of this?"
"Of course," Annie nodded, "Everything from the first ultrasound to your nursing school graduation."
"Wow," Sayori looked through the pages, stumbling upon a picture of Yolanda and Sayon. The two looked happy—Sayon holding Yolanda's stomach with a wide smile, as Yolanda held a popsicle in her hand, "They look really happy."
"They were," Annie smiled at the picture, "Your mom was happy when your dad was here. After he was deported, everything changed for her."
"Everything changed for her? Or did she just change?" Sayori raised her eyebrows.
"She changed. It was quick and sudden," Annie sighed, "I didn't recognize my daughter after Sayon. As hard as I tried to be there and talk to her, I just couldn't get through to her."
"Maybe one day she'll offer an explanation," Sayori shrugged, as she sat in thought.
Sayori couldn't recall a time that Yolanda actually treated her like her daughter. She couldn't recall getting her tears wiped, an obnoxious amount of kisses to her face, or sitting in between her mother's legs getting her hair parted and platted for school the next morning. She couldn't recall Yolanda smiling at her, let alone embracing her or telling Sayori that she'd loved her.
As a child, Sayori tried anything to get Yolanda's attention. Anything she did, Sayori excelled at it—just to obtain a simple great job from Yolanda. However, the only person who'd ever attended recitals, games or concerts was Annie and her father via video chat. After some time, Sayori eventually gave up and decided to let the thought of a relationship with her mother, go.
"Maybe," Annie rubbed Sayori's arm, "I'm grateful for you. I'm proud of you. I love you."
"I love you too, Nana," Sayori pouted, "Thank you."
Annie reached over to hug Sayori, cradling her head near her chest. Sayori couldn't help but to relax, as she listened to her grandmother's steady heartbeat. As long as Annie was here, Sayori knew that she was loved and wanted, unconditionally.
