My grandmother died in 2015, she was tiny and spunky and maybe a little mysterious. She used to tease my brother and I by saying she was our “Squirrely Grandma.” She introduced me to a lot of wonderful things, among them: cooking, Mary Martin as Peter Pan, and Beatrix Potter, who has been a huge influence on my work. She and my grandfather lived at the literal top of a mountain, and my brother and I spent most of our younger years surrounded by woods and wildlife. I’ve always spoken clearer through nature and animals.
My grandfather died last month. He was larger than life in so many ways, was a legitimate hero in others, and he loved my grandmother to pieces and set the example for what a solid and loving partnership should feel like. His middle name, Bearl, leant itself well to the nickname we’d use for him as kids, “Bobby Bear.” They gave us an affection for the outdoors, and resourcefulness, and an understanding of true unconditional love.
I don’t believe in heaven, I’m not particularly spiritual, but I know that wherever they’ve gone, they’re certainly there together.