Heritage

It's your grandmother. 
She's not well.

The sun reflected so brightly in the neighbor's balcony door. Summer evening and the apartment was warm, serene. The words lingered, unable to connect to the appropriate emotion. Rational trains of thought kicked in. They do that when we need them, sometimes. It is coolly comforting.

Later, I found myself in the kitchen, cooking up a batch of elder flower lemonade; we nicked the flowers last night and hoped no one would call us on it. I stirred sugar into boiling water, layered lemons and fragrant blooms into the pot, working mechanically, methodically, considering packing options, travel schedules. The sense of going through motions calms impatient nerves, impending tears.

I have her laugh. It is silly and annoying and will drive people crazy, but it is mine, and it is hers. I always loved that laugh. I always loved what it meant.

Life is long.
It is never long enough.