To the Grandmother Who Knew Me and Didn’t

Epistolary Poem

I think you should know that I have a whole collection of Stephen King books now. The one you gave me was the first, and it is my prized possession. Every time I glimpse it on a shelf, I think of you. It reminds me that you gave me a lot of yourself. You knew me, and yet you didn’t.

You knew me in ways that shaped my personality, my style, my ideas. I liked quiet moments, sitting out on that big rock in your yard. I would sit and watch the water, and you would let me be for hours. I needed those moments. I still do. You knew I liked to watch the glide of the red across your lips, you wore that color more often when I was around. I made sure you wore it in the end, applied it myself to cold lips. I wear it often now and think of you. I wore it to my wedding, and it felt like you were there with me. In the end you understood I had anxiety, panic around being in the hospital for long periods. I still went. You made sure there were things for me to do, so I would not fall apart when my mother needed my strength. You gave me a bear that a nurse had given to you. He’s sitting with me right now as I write this. You knew me, but in some ways you didn’t.

You didn’t know how ravaged and ragged my mind was. You would see me yelling at my mother or my sisters over small things and you would tell me I was not going to speak to your daughter like that in your home. I would storm out, and no one would follow. I would fall apart in those moments. I didn’t know why anger felt like the only emotion I could own. I didn’t know why no one wanted to understand or comfort me. When you didn’t know me in the way I needed someone to, it felt like a betrayal. Like no one was ever going to understand or help, because you didn’t.

Those were unfair thoughts from a young girl. I can see that now, as I look back upon them. But knowing that doesn’t mean that they weren’t thought, weren’t felt.

I want you to understand that you knew me in small ways. You inspired a lot of who I am now. I wear red lipstick. I collect Stephen King. I watch true crime to fall asleep like we used to do. I take my quiet moments and enjoy the peace around me. I wear large glasses that reflect the sun and frame my face, just like you used to. By doing some of these I have come to realize something my teenage mind never could. You knew me in ways I didn’t.