“You have her face and her eyes…but you are not her…” – Tori Amos (from “bells for her”)(I wrote this the last time I visited my Great Grandmother in Ohio back in 2003. Because I am missing her so much and havent been able to get in touch with her- here it is again...)Ohio in winter- unless you have experienced it for yourself you will not fully be able to comprehend the stillness of our mother earth when she is wrapped in a blanket of snow. It’s almost like the silence has a sound because you can hear this hush. It is prominent of course at night. Couple this wonderful experience with sitting in a graveyard and you will come to feel a stirring within your blood- that life force that pumps within. It is odd really. I sit here. I am alive. I am blessed. Beneath me a mere six feet away are the decaying shells that housed souls of people who gave me life, people for whom I shared my life with, and loved deeply. From my family to friends they are all beneath my feet but never forgotten. I now breathe for them. I laugh, love, and cry for them. Not a day goes by that they do not visit me. She is the last of those from my past. Her hair is short and snow white; her hands small and soft as silk. Her brown eyes are framed in a ring of blue and harbor sadness that only the story of time could tell. Yet those eyes fill with a twinkle of light that whispers the happiness of her yesteryears and the dawn of new life though hers is slowly fading. Often times I see that twinkle when she looks at me over her steamy cup of tea from across the table. She gives my hand a reassuring squeeze indicating that comforting knowledge of knowing no matter what everything will be alright. “Pleasure is seeing within you the people who came before you…with out even knowing their names…” She said to me with an all knowing smile, “I see within you your great, great grandmother…my mother...a woman of strength…a sensitive and feeling woman. She wrote in a journal everyday just like you. Eloquent words. Words that could make anyone relate. She could express her worries as a mother right down to the agony a mother feels when her little boy falls and scrapes his knee…She was an amazing and strong woman.” She sighed softly as she raised her tea cup to her lips but before she took a sip she spoke on a breath, “I miss her…” I sat quietly watching her. I wanted to remember everything about her. Not how time had slowly rendered a shadow of her former self or how the years were worn in the wrinkles that lined her face. I was more locked in on the air about her. The light-her aura- that seems to shine. I wish I could bottle it and keep it with me for always. Her movements though shaken were still her own just not as polished. Her sigh, her laugh- please don’t ever let me forget. As I took a sip of my tea I realized I was staring at her. I could tell she knew for she had this ornery smile locked on her thin lips. I blinked and looked down as she spoke with amusement in her voice, “Its ok my little girl…I am not going any where yet…at least not during tea time…” I smiled and shared in her laugh. If this was true I would make tea time last forever. She doesn’t live in the modern world. She doesn’t know what email is and thinks cell phones are awfully nifty things. My laptop intimidates her but impresses her all at the same time. “You mean on that thing you are attending a College in Portland from anywhere in the world?” I just smiled and nodded. She tells me of the days of soda pop shops and penny candies. How she and her sisters were given money for the bus to and from school, however, they would save up their bus fare and walk the 9 miles to and from school just so at the end of the week they could get a sack full of candy for five cents. She tells me stories of things long forgotten. She reminds me of who I am. When she speaks I feel as if the nightmare of my past was never there. I feel as the souls of the family who passed- that I never knew- are always at her side. When she speaks of them there is great love and within her voice there is sadness. She misses her mother, father, her sisters, her brother, and her two sons a lot not to mention her husband.  As she speaks to me about the things her and her own best friend (who has long passed) did when they were young I am forever reminded of the deep bond women share with one another. That level of trust, understanding and comfort no man can offer. I feel this bond with her. I understand. …But all beautiful and wonderful things must end. They all fade like a summers day. Like the gentle wind in the autumn or a pattering rain in the spring. With seasons change sets the old and dawns the new. It’s inevitable what I have to face. But if I can just hold onto my tea cup perhaps I can persuade her never to leave the table. Then time will stand still. She wont leave me…not when its tea time. “Can’t stop loving….Can’t stop what is on its way…I see it coming…and its on its way…” – Tori Amos (from “bells for her”)