Slow and Steady

Household Memories

Trigger Warning: Medium-Heavy Mentions of Grief and Loss

I sat on the brick windowsill, a part of the grand arched window. Our heater hummed noisily, warming my already toasty body. Wrapping my burgundy hoodie over myself, I stared hazily out of the big window. The once bright sky was growing dark with the evening's approach. A squirrel darted back to the bushes to get sleep. Turning away from the beautiful foliage, I faced Chelsea, standing off to the side of the hallway that met the family room.

The bright overhead lights from the ceiling illuminated Chelsea's small face, with her dark brown hair curled heavily over her shoulders. She wore a cyan-blue shirt over a light gray long-sleeved shirt, and a ruffled pair of sweatpants. She inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, her brown eyes lit up as she continued surveying the family room, and she smiled when she met me.

Cupping a mug inside her hands, she stepped toward me, arms outstretched. The smell of hot chocolate and sight of the tiny marshmallows floating near the rim instantly cheered me up. I let the hot mug and the silent, comfortable feeling of peace with Chelsea warm me up before I started sipping the cocoa as Chelsea curled up on the couch next to me, with her feet tucked underneath her, her body facing me. As I sipped my cocoa, I realized how I had perched myself on the windowsill, knees up almost to my chin. Exactly how my grandma had often sat on the same couch Chelsea sat in now. Shaking, I turned back to the window.

Rumbling had started sounding not too far from home. Water droplets began to pepper the roof of the house, more droplets pelting off the gutter. I watched the clear window as the rain began to drizzle down the glass.

"I'm sorry," Chelsea said finally.

"Why? What have you done?" I asked her.

"Nothing. But that's probably the point," she said.

Mom and Gram had passed away. Mom had a scare with her heart three years ago; she had one heart attack at home. When we took her to the hospital, she had the other one, and passed away. Lauri had been the last one of us to say goodbye to mom, she had said that we'd see her tomorrow, like usual. Gram was just as broken, if not more than we were. About a year later, Gram had gone in her sleep, and I had tried to wake Gram up during the morning that I found her.

"Amanda? Amanda..." Chelsea started to wake me quietly.

I guess I had dozed off trying to get myself to do anything but think about the memories.

The morning light doused the spacious living room, allowing the white walls to almost shimmer. The quaint living room glowed and I took in every sight that I could as if I'd just now seen it and this would be my only time.

Mom's favorite worn down chair, a recliner she rarely opened, stood next to Gram's velvet chair near the bulky brick fireplace. They sat in those chairs frequently, either staring at us-- Chelsea and Lauri at the plush loveseat and me at my windowsill, our usual spots, or out the window to the dogwood and maple trees like I was doing now.

After what happened with Gram just a month and a half ago, I immediately pushed the memory away. I had already watched the rainfall once. I didn't need to or want to look at my reflection to see tears coming from my brown eyes down my cheeks.

Rising, I stepped away from the family room and went to my room, changing from my pajamas. When I returned from my room, I recognized Chelsea had entered Lauri's closed-off room. The young girl then got rustled from one of her comforting blanketing cocoons. From the edge of the doorframe, I listened as Chelsea calmly started a discussion.

"Lauri, honey, you aren't eating? You haven't eaten all week, are you okay?" Chelsea's faint voice tried to move through the soft coverings around Lauri. Lauri's disapproving grumbling returned Chelsea's concerned statement. Chelsea proceeded anyway, "I know this-- this entire thing is a struggle, these losses make you unsure of a lot moving on. Believe me, I'm having the... opposite problem of yours."