I can't seem to buy a dress for Grandma's service. I know exactly what I want. I walked through the West Village, looking in all the stores. I found a dress at Banana Republic. I left it on the rack. I called Smang, and asked her to meet me at NorthPark. We walked through the whole mall. Once again, I found several dresses that were precisely what I'd said I wanted to wear. And once again, I left them all in their respective stores. I did buy a clutch. That's right, I went to buy a dress for my grandma's memorial service, and left with a leopard-print Stuart Weitzman clutch.
It's like, if I don't buy the dress, then it's not real. I won't have to go and memorialize her on Monday. Somehow, Sylvia will greet me with a "heeeeeeeeeeey" the next time I walk into my grandparent's house. Somehow, I will hear her call me from the next room, using both my names, Heather Leigh. Never just Heather. ALWAYS Heather Leigh. She was instrumental in the choice of my name. My mom wanted to name me Gabrielle. Then she passed out from all the awesome drugs, and when she woke up, my dad and her mom introduced me. :) I still hear her voice. But it's just the echo of her in my heart.
My dad and I have exchanged a few emails this week. To her dying day, Sylvia spoke very highly of my dad. Those of you who know me for realsies know that is an opinion I don't necessarily share. But he wrote of his condolences and he wrote the best thing I have read all week:
There is a Sylvia sized hole in the universe.