Welcome everyone to All Five Cups. I’m so glad you’re here. If there’s something on your mind, please hit me up. Let’s expand and grow together.
My book-baby is about to turn one. I published it on June 25th, 2023, as a gift to myself on my 40th birthday. Many milestones were reached that day, but letting go of grief wasn’t one of them.
I wrote Georgie’s Long Goodbye for and with my Grandma Betty, who passed away on July 4, 2010. I remember where I was when I got the call. I remember feeling like I had jumped timelines. An invisible door slammed shut. I was now the sole keeper of our memories. And although my grandma experienced significant cognitive decline in her last few years—she had no idea who I was—I always held on to the hope that somewhere, in the far recesses of her mind, I could be found. But that was no longer possible. It took two therapists, a session with a medium, and my book to allow me to even touch the pain. My grandma was my defender, my cheerleader, and my sous chef (probably vice versa on that last one, but she would’ve laughed if I called her that, so we’ll leave that lie alone).
And now the question that grief asks me every day is: How can you live without a piece of your heart?
Georgie made his debut on my birthday, and then I went about shuffling through a journal she wrote for me as a high school graduation gift. I often revisit her words as a way of keeping the conversation going. I imagine her sitting in her rocking chair near the panoramic window of her 5th-floor New York apartment, squirreling away at the pages (written in cursive, no less). I see her staring off into the distance, reflecting on her time on this rock. She wrote about her life, about having babies, raising babies, and burying one of her children. She spoke of memories of intense laughter. Those belly-chuckle moments that have you gasping for air when you try to retell them.
Age gives us wisdom to look at life through a softer lens.
Below is an unedited excerpt from the journal entry that found me on my 40th birthday. I like to think it was Grandma Betty giving me her seal of approval.
May 11, 2001
Well Brigette I was up last night until 1 AM reading this and trying to correct some of the spelling. Can you believe I repeated different pages about my family. I wrote about Billy three times because I started last summer and forgot I wrote it before. Also my brother Jack. Your mother’s book should be better. I have learned a little bit since I started this. I skipped all over today yesterday and so on. It should have been in file better.
On the family tree I left all the pages empty for you to fill where I forgot or made a mistake. Remember hon I only went to 9th grade many years ago. Anyway next is your mother’s book. I am really enjoying doing this. You know how I drag out about anything. I am telling you. Do you think I was born to be a writer? I wonder. Maybe if I educated more…
I believe that she was meant to be a writer. She went on to pen several more journals for other family members. But more than that, she was a writer because she loved to do it. It’s that simple. She found her joy in this glorious craft and ran with it.
And while yes, it’s true that I can’t call her up and laugh about her teaching me my first curse word when I was about six years old (tables are made for glasses, not for a**es), her journal gives us a place to meet for a chat. It’s a place where the love we shared still lives and breathes. A place where her wisdom is still my North Star.
Here is some guidance I believe she wants us to remember:
We will learn as we go, but we can’t improve unless we start.
We don’t always know how our dreams are going to come true. I don’t think she ever published anything during her lifetime. Never pursued writing as a career. But as of today, she has officially made her debut. Give the Universe time and space to work out the details. Our job is to stay focused on living our best lives.
Redefining success on our own terms is a boss-level move. I believe that success to my grandma was completing this project. She found her path on these pages. So much so that she continued to write. Her purpose was the joy of doing it. Her gift was sharing it with all of us.
So, to all of you out there who wonder if you’re meant to be a writer much like my dearest grandma did, the answer is yes. Your ability to connect the raw human experience to these silly, symbolic, squiggly lines makes you a writer. And let me tell you, that’s not for nothing. Anyone can write, but not everyone can write well.
Your words are your legacy. Write them with intention.
My grandma’s words will move forward with me. This is both a blessing and a difficulty. It’s evidence that our love was real, and it also weighs on my heart. It’s a request that came too soon; one that there was no preparing for. So, some days I cry twice. Once for me and once for her, because there are no tears in heaven. But my rebellious Grandma Betty probably sneaks in a few when no one’s looking.
P.S. All Five Cups is not intended to replace professional services. Please consult a mental health professional or contact your local emergency services for immediate support.
