Grama's house
When I was on my mission and things were almost to the breaking point, I just couldn't handle another day or moment of being in the humid heat and angry glare of Hong Kong and its people, I would imagine one place. I would go to a place with soft, natural light coming through all of the large windows, sitting on a huge, overstuffed red velvet armchair. There would be a long, thick golden couch with a dozen colorful pillows to sink into, and in a high-backed sage green would sit my grama. It was the Grama Gena who just listened when I needed, and just talked when I needed that instead. She was the Grama who smiled slyly while telling me a beautiful, sad, clever story of her life, the Grama who laughed while I used sarcasm to tell a story of my own, the Grama who wanted to help fix all of the problems I had.
But no matter what we talked about, I would feel amazing, and calm, and things would be alright, even if it was just a moment, while I sat on the metro going to teach a lesson, or was having a private moment while studying scriptures. I would feel comfortable, even if just for a second.
Then when I got home, when I was finally feeling comfortable about 10% of the time on my mission, I had to be sent home and figure out the new normal for the rest of my life. After 18 months of being uncomfortable and learning to live that way, I had to figure out how to try to live comfortably, while weirdly being uncomfortable.
And then I walked into my Grama's house, and I felt like I could finally breathe. I felt comfortable. I could breathe. I sat in that red chair and talked to that woman in the green one, that woman I loved so much.
When I went back to that house on the night she left this world, I sat in the green chair. I sat in that room I had thought about so many times on my mission, but this time, I couldn't breathe. The reason that it was my place of comfort in my mind, and in reality, wasn't because of the room. It was the person in the room with me.
I miss her every day, and she's constantly in my thoughts and in my dreams. I imagine being in that room with her, sitting in a red chair with my cocoa, her in her green one with a Coke and some magazines. And for a minute, I can breathe again.
But no matter what we talked about, I would feel amazing, and calm, and things would be alright, even if it was just a moment, while I sat on the metro going to teach a lesson, or was having a private moment while studying scriptures. I would feel comfortable, even if just for a second.
Then when I got home, when I was finally feeling comfortable about 10% of the time on my mission, I had to be sent home and figure out the new normal for the rest of my life. After 18 months of being uncomfortable and learning to live that way, I had to figure out how to try to live comfortably, while weirdly being uncomfortable.
And then I walked into my Grama's house, and I felt like I could finally breathe. I felt comfortable. I could breathe. I sat in that red chair and talked to that woman in the green one, that woman I loved so much.
When I went back to that house on the night she left this world, I sat in the green chair. I sat in that room I had thought about so many times on my mission, but this time, I couldn't breathe. The reason that it was my place of comfort in my mind, and in reality, wasn't because of the room. It was the person in the room with me.
I miss her every day, and she's constantly in my thoughts and in my dreams. I imagine being in that room with her, sitting in a red chair with my cocoa, her in her green one with a Coke and some magazines. And for a minute, I can breathe again.
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