What She Left

-entry 2

"To whomever reads,

Today I looked back at old family photos, wishing that my daughter wouldn't have taken her life so many years ago. Though my memory is wearing dull as the days tick by, my most wretched memories I fear will never leave me.

April 13th. -present time

Love, Wren Jennings."

__________

Marina 

     The car ride was silent and I liked it that way, it gave my thoughts time to be loud and life to listen. It's been six months and I haven't but touched the journal that my grandmother left in her will that was given to me the dreadful day of her funeral. I can still remember the way I held Michaela's hand as we walked to her open casket. Physically, I was there in that funeral home holding Michaela, but it felt like I was drifting away somewhere else, and Michaela was the only thing anchoring me to the real world. She gave a speech, beautiful I'm sure, but my ears just couldn't tune into her. I was staring too hard at the journal my mother had handed to me that she received from some business man of my grandmother's. I couldn't take my eyes off of it, yet I wasn't paying attention to anything about the journal at all; I was just thinking of the memories. All the bad ones and how on the day's I would visit her, she would have her journal nearby. 

      From there on, I was afraid of the contents it held and what I would find out. I didn't want to hear of the wretched day's Grandma Wren went through, because I had lived some of them with her, and it was far from the aesthetically pleasing poet and speaker I new her to be. It was just heart breaking, but I was done being afraid. I decided that I would open the journal and read it no matter how much pain it caused me, only because I knew the journal was the only way I would ever know how my grandmother felt during her dementia, and that was one of the most important things to me.

                        _______________

     I carefully pulled back the brown leather cover of the journal inspecting every part of it in the process. 'Wren Jennings' was carefully hand engraved in calligraphy on the front. There were small doodles of people and elephants on the inside of each of the letters: It was beautiful. I closed my eyes and gently moved my hands over each of the letters one-by-one. I loved every part of it. It reminded me of the time she taught me to draw an elephant. I smiled at the thought because that was a good day for both of us.

     "Open it, Marina." I jumped unaware of Michaela's presence. She was leaning against the white door frame of my room, gazing upon the journal as she spoke. Kayla was only 10 months younger than me and we looked almost identical and were often mistaken as twins. Michaela always had a stealthy way of sneaking up on me and finding me when I wanted to be alone, she had once again succeeded.

     "Michaela, was this sad to read?" I gazed into her eyes and saw the sadness and anger that had been there ever since grandma had died. It all happened after the journal, but she had never told me why because she told me it was important that I read and found out myself. Maybe that's why I was so fueled to read this journal, to get rid of the hatred that existed in all of us toward dementia, and rid of it forever.

     "Marina, it wasn't happy, but it helped me understand on a much deeper level who grandma was," She paused for a long time then sat in the desk chair opposite me. "and what really happened to her." She murmured.

     "What do you mean? Everyone knows what really happened to grandma." I said suddenly mad. "She had dementia and died." I could feel anger bubbling up inside of me that came each time Michaela was trying to tell me things and twist the truth. Once in kindergarten, Michaela convinced me and the whole class, including the teacher, that I was suffering from a fatal disease. No wonder I have trust issues.

     "Open it, Marina," Michaela said more forcefully this time. "You can't keep putting this off. You're a writer just like grandma, and maybe just maybe someday you can write a book about dementia and tell the world what goes on in someone's brain. Maybe someday you will see someone with dementia and understand that it's not their fault. Maybe you can teach all of us that the demented, are some of the most beautiful people you will ever meet. You can do this, Marina. I think out of al people you deserve to know what grandma was thinking. Stars that cannot be made to constellations no matter how hard you try, Em. Marina.." She stopped as if trying to select the best words as Grandma Wren would often do, "that's truly what I saw after I read this journal. I cried and cried , but most importantly I learned that one day, there wasn't even stars there to connect to constellations for her anymore." She whispered painfully. "Because we all gave up." 

       Michaela always held together her emotions very well and I was surprised that the journal had made her feel this way. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea for my soft heart and my faucet of eyes to read this journal, but I decided that fear wouldn't and couldn't swallow me anymore, for I was going to open this journal. For the truth, and all the things that matter in the world.

     A noted fell out as I pulled back the cover. It read,

     Marina, I knew you wouldn't open this journal until you were ready, you weren't ready to hear this 6 months ago, but I  believe you are now. Your grandmother's death wasn't due to dementia; she was poisoned.

     My head was spinning. The note was short and sweet and so unrealistic in my mind. I searched all around for another not saying this was a joke, because Michaela enjoyed pranks but there wasn't. I threw the notebooks, trophies, and the plethora of pencils off my perfectly organized desk but that didn't matter. My grandmother mattered. I could see Michaela in my peripheral vision, eyes wide mouth wide open while my mind was drowning in anger and the unknown. Poisoned? No. Everyone loved and still does love my grandmother. The anger and sadness behind Michaela's eyes made sense now. I was lied to. Why? Why!

     "Marina, no!" Michaela screamed and lunged toward me.

      I didn't care. The journal had already hit the wall, scattering what was left of my grandmother all over my bedroom floor.

     "It was a joke!" Michaela jumped from her chair screaming. She was crying and Michaela never cried. "I-I-I didn't know you were going to destroy it! Next time maybe you should think before you do things, Marina!" She stormed out of my room and I immediately felt enraged with anger. "Maybe you should to Michaela!" I shouted to her before breaking down in tears of my own. 
     
     I had just destroyed an amazing part of my grandmother that I never even gotten the chance to see.