Five years have passed since my world had to adjust to the absence of the beloved Lorraine Holland, my Maymee. Since then, school has brought me to the state in which she lived, close to where much of her legacy still lives. Every time I drive past the Friendly's in Hadley, I think about going to the old Friendly's close to her home in Medfield, the home that continues to exist in my mind through my childhood gaze. Every time I visit my grandfather, in the condo they moved into, I can see the decor and the lasting tidiness that originated from her two hands, over five years ago. I wish that she was there for these visits, too, or that I had this opportunity to see her more frequently than I used to. But I don't mean to make this about the lost time; instead, I hope to make it about the time I did have with her, the first fifteen years of my life that gave me Maymee as my grandmother, as a guide, as an example of how to be. These essays are meant to look for joy, and that certainly becomes more difficult when dealing with topics like grief, but these anniversaries remind us of the things that we carry with us from the people that we have lost, the ways in which they still guide us. I have a vivid memory of Maymee's hand resting on my arm, bracelets always lining her wrists, as she sat next to me on our couch in Pennsylvania, asking me about school and such; I think of this every time I think of her. Back then, during my grandparents' visits, after the sun went down, she would tell my grandfather "Let's go, Clark, Gracie needs to get to bed," and they would go back to their hotel. And we would see her at 11 the next morning when she was dressed and ready for the day (now, I notice how I certainly share her love of putting outfits together, adding her jewelry to the best ones).
I am reminded of Maymee in my dad's cleanliness, my grandfather's mentions of his "Sweet Lorraine," the caroler figurines that sit on our table around Christmastime, the Clark and Lorraine anniversary charm that now lives on a bracelet around my wrist, the birthday cards on which she wrote "MLY" for "Maymee Loves You." She wanted to know about you, your stories, your future, ensuring that her family would never forget how proud she was. And I haven't, five years later, her voice in my memory and my favorite picture of her on my desk.
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