And here's to you

I remember the first time I took a drink.... I was 11.  I poured bourbon into my lemonade, watched The Brady Bunch and thought about how much I hated my father.

I love the sound of a cork popping.  I love the slow pour of a aged wine into the appropriate glass.  I relish Stilton and Port.  I adore the sweet trickle and minty zing of a perfect Mint Julep.  The right combination of lime and vodka in a Cosmopolitan can make me swoon.  A good Zinfandel is like velvet... smooth and soft, warm and inviting.

I am in love with the beast.

I am never alone with a glass in my hand.

I sip between each sentence... I swallow between each thought.

I am anesthetized.  I wish.

I miss you.  I have no one to call.  I miss your guidance.  I miss your gentle drawl.  I have so much to tell you... so much I want to know.

Its only as good as the bottle is full.  Each pour, I suffer a little more.

The electric hum of the television in the other room is like a cadence.  My mother and husband sit before it and are absorbed with its offerings.  In the study, I try to write.  What can I say?  Christmas has come and gone.  As the new year approaches, all I can think of is that it will be a year without you.

I read a story today in The Washington Post about a 29 year old woman who had lost her husband.  29.  She had only yet begun to know herself much less her husband.  88.  You were 88 and married 70 years.  There was nothing left undone.  How happy I am that I had so much time to spend with you.  How scared I am that I have so much more to live without you.

I am weary with condolences; I am unsure whether or not you are in a better place.  I am frightened.  I am tired of being told that your suffering has ended.  Remember, we promised one another that whoever would be first to go would get in touch with the other?  Where are you?  If there is a heaven, surely you are there.

I take another sip.  I have ceased to taste the wine... my mouth is sour.

You gave me a gift this Christmas.  Days before your death, you chose a gift for me.  I am cored.

The days have wafted past... I am unsure of the time.  Mornings seamlessly meld into evening.  Easy come, easy go.

Of this I am sure... your beauty is unparalleled.  So soft your touch, so gentle your heart.  Maybe, maybe, I needed your kind of fairy tale magic... maybe you weren't all that you seemed to me... maybe no one can live to those standards... but I believe.

I remember my first drink.  I drank to forget.  It is so easy to pick up a glass.  Bottoms up, Gran.