All of Her Things

15 years ago, my Grandaddy passed away, September 11^th, 2010. I always confuse the date because my cousin also passed away in September, and then I always think, “No, he didn’t pass on 9/11!” My dad actually reminded me today.

This took me by surprise because I didn’t realize it was that long ago. I was 20 years old. I was a completely different person. Now I feel I hardly remember him at all. I remember he used to live with my family and put me on the school bus when I was in kindergarten. I recall him being a very strict man, but I also remember him smiling a lot. I remember hearing my daddy calling him “Daddy.” I remember his apartment in Brooklyn. I remember he had a collection of suits; he was a dapper man. I remember him telling me he wanted a red Mercedes C-Class. The song, “In the Summertime” by Mungo Jerry reminds me of him and I don’t know why. I assume he played the song when I was with him. My memories are so cloudy now, and I wish I had kept a diary while I was growing up to remember the things we used to do. Maybe that’s why I want to write this now.

As I drove home from my German class today, I started thinking about the day he died and how strange that morning was. The memory may be a bit cloudy, but my heart still beats the way it did on that day when I do remember. I remember feeling that day was kind of weird because, of course, it was 9/11. I drove to work at Abercrombie & Fitch at the Freehold Raceway Mall and started my workday like any other. I was opening the store that day with my manager (maybe one or two other people), which included doing some morning cleaning and organizing. My manager placed me in the front to greet customers, and I didn’t think much of it. I think I may have been standing in the front for 15-30 minutes when my aunt walked in, and I was so happy to see her. Then she told me I had to get my things without really explaining why. I think she said there was a family emergency. Right as she told me this, and I was extremely confused, my manager came up and told me it was okay to get my things. 

I remember walking to the back to get my belongings and feeling like I was watching myself from outside my body. My aunt and I sat down in the mall, and that’s when she told me my Grandaddy had died. After that, I don’t remember much. Maybe a little bit of the funeral, but that’s all.

This isn’t meant to be a long blog post remembering my grandfather, but it’s to preserve the only memories I have left of that day and to hold on to the feeling I experienced, even though I have a feeling I’ll never forget. It was so strange. I believe my aunt called Abercrombie and told them she was picking me up, so my manager knew about my Grandaddy before I did. I felt like a kid being picked up from school, not a 20-year-old adult.  

I can’t believe I don’t remember anything else. If I could share one regret, it’s that I didn’t start journaling until about five years ago. I regret not being able to remember, not just that day, but also him. So I’ll end this post with a request: start journaling and be consistent. Time passes so quickly, and I feel like I’m constantly forgetting events and people who shaped me. You and your children should journal about how events and people made you feel. It’s not just about remembering things but also about finding relief from the things that make us sad, nervous, or stressed. It’s a reminder that you can find contentment even in the mundane. Write things down to remember days, to remember who you once were, and to remember your loved ones.

Always,

Dani