Memories

When I was little with my cousins, we spent ages in my grandparents pool. We stayed in there until we were so pruned we were pickled. 
In my memory, we spent years there. We lived in that pool, like mer-people, inhabiting an aquatic fantasy world that stretched through our childhoods. 
It wasn't just the supreme coolness of the fact that they had a pool- at their HOUSE.  It also had a diving board, and a scum-eating robotic creature named Nessie, and every kind of pool toy us mer-cousins could imagine. 
There were rubber sharks, remote-control ships, a wind-up frog that scutted across the shallow end.  Rings to dive for and every kind of floating boat/chair/animal/you-name-it to tip your cousins off of.  
I remember this one beach ball.  It was as big as me, it seemed- or bigger!- but some of the air had gone out.  Half deflated and smushy, it had almost the perfect buoyancy so that when I lay on it, it held me up exactly at surface level but was totally submerged. So that to all the world I appeared to be just floating along. Weightless. 
Almost. But the thing was, in order to keep it under me like that, I had to kind of prop my elbows on it and push down with my arms. 
If I got distracted or tired and let up just a little, it would come bobbing up. Enough that I'd lose my balance a bit. Have to scramble to get it back under and out of the way again. 
And of course there was always the possibility that I might forget myself altogether for a moment, let go. And then the thing would come shooting up with all the pent-up energy and aggression of having been Held Back- and slam me in the face. So I'd end up all sputtering and flailing arms, thrashing about for something to hold on to.  
Being here in Texas, after my Grandmother died, has been like that.
The reality of it all is still sort of submerged...I'm trying to keep my balance, long as I can. 
Partly because my Grandfather (understandably after 64 years) is kind of drowning. It's not the time for my spluttering and flailing. 
And partly because I do not want to let it go and whap me upside the head yet. This one...is hard. It's going to hurt.  
Focusing on the good things helps. Laughing when I can helps. My grandmother, for instance, was infamously emotional; brought to tears by any sadness, happiness, sweet memory. She always carried little packs of tissue, just in case.
While the family went to Oklahoma for the burial, I cleaned out her closet. The girls hit the dress-up clothes jackpot (Little One pronounced grandmother a "very princess" after discovering a rack of beaded/sequined dresses) and I am in cardigans for life. But most of the rest was donated. Before I took it all away, I was sure to empty all the pockets and purses. It was hard to do. It was sad to. But before long I was chuckling, as I slowly filled up the better part of a kitchen trash bag- *just* with little crumpled tissues.
It was just SO...her. Those unique little quirks are the hardest things to miss. And the best for helping me remember. That helps, too.
So does staying insanely, mind-splittingly busy. Which is good, because the movers come next week.
Isn't it funny how even when life has no right at all to go on...it does.

And because it keeps me floating, for now.