grandma tanya

I was at my grandmother's old apartment with my mother. It was her old place near the art museum. She hasn't lived there since I was little, but I dream of it often. We were in my grandmother's apartment and my great grandmother had an apartment not so far away, but not in the same building. My mother told me that they moved Grandma Tanya to a new place so she could be closer to Grandma Vera. She told me it was the old smoking room down the hall. They had moved her in earlier, and hadn't told me because they thought it would upset me. I hadn't ever seen "the smoking room" before so I didn't know what to expect. We went down the hall Grandma Vera's to a cabinet door. She unlocked it to reveal a small room that looked like no more than an enlarged closet. It had nothing more than a bed and a tall wardrobe inside. It was dark and only had a small window. The blankets on the bed were messy and held the shape of a person who had recently been laying there.

I thought, and said out loud to my surprise, "She's coming here to die. She's going to die in here." I buried my head in my mother's chest and began to cry. I made short wailing sounds. She just held me. I was concerned that I'd have to leave Korea early, that it was too soon and I wasn't ready.

Just then, while I was still covered in tears, Grandma Vera and Grandma Tanya came around the corner. I didn't want Grandma Tanya to see me like this. I wanted to be positive like my mother who was saying that it will be great for her to be closer to Grandma Vera. I wanted to be excited that she had moved to a new place, even come up with something good to say, like that it was sort of like a secret sleeping nook... but when I looked up at her, all I could think about was her dying in there. And wanting to. And accepting that this was her last place.

When I woke up I was so sad thinking about how my great-grandmother, Grandma Tanya, was going to die one day. When reality finally took over, I remembered that she died over a decade ago and I was so upset with myself that my dream wasn't more lucid, that I didn't allow myself the chance to say things I never had the chance to, that I didn't ask her something--instead of standing there in tears.

I try to piece together the images and emotions to make sense of this:

• The smoking room was from the signs at the palace I went to on Sunday. They had specific places on the grounds for smoking that were pointed out on the maps with red X at each location. The only English on the sign said something like SMOKING ROOM.
• The size of the closet and the idea of death in a small space comes from the anxiety I feel in my new apartment. I've been aching for spring so I don't end up spending as much time inside my sleeping closet.
• I often have dreams in my grandmother's old apartment near the art museum in Philly. I have no idea why. It always reminded me a bit of a fancy hotel and it felt a bit special. I don't ever remember my father at my grandmother's old apartment so it was time I spent with my mom's family. These times with four generations of Brook women were filled with food, stuffed with laughter, dominated by complaints, sprinkled with Yiddish, and all involved some kind of "to-do."
• My grandmother sent me a letter this past week. At the bottom she wrote that the 18th of March would have been Calvin's (my grandfather) 95th birthday. He died exactly a year, to the day, before I was born. I was born a whole month later than I was due, maybe I was waiting. I always wondered what he was like. She said I would have liked him. I never had a grandfather. Not on my father's side either. However, I did have a great-grandmother, and that's kinda cool.
  
• Clyde died this past week. I was devestated to hear the news. I cried and cried and cried. I'm still crying, though I should be happy to have known him. I wish I was there for the memorial--to honor him, to say goodbye. I should have been there. I worry I'm missing out on too many of the important things by living my life abroad.
  
• I worry about having to leave Korea for some unexpected reason, and though I'm ashamed to admit it, I've wished for an excuse to come back. I'm not ready to let go of things here or back home. That's created a bit of conflict inside, some stress, and mostly a feeling of isolation. I'm neither here, nor there.