Cranberry Summer

Chapter Two-Loss and Recovery

Two years passed after that day. I was 20 years old and I hadn't flown the coop. My grandmother was still taking care of me, and I decided not to go to college. I mean, since grandmother was going to take care of me until my boyfriend would propose, I would be fine.

Looking back now, I realize that was foolish thinking. I knew it wouldn't last, but I was still foollish enough to believe that it would somehow work out. It was November 30th, 1980. I still remember this day like it was yesterday. I entered the kitchen, and my grandmother was inside, baking pies for the local American Red Cross. I peered over her shoulder and watched her make the delectable pie crust. I can tell you that it was made of brown sugar.

She was absently humming as she placed them in the oven. The sweet smell of cranberries filled the entire house as we talked about everything and nothing. Grandmother stooped over to open the oven door when she just collapsed. I dashed over to her, tying my long, wild blonde hair out of my face. I shut the oven door, and peered over at her.

I remember calling the ambulance, and shaking her to see if she was alright. I remember screaming at God and shouting at no one. When they came to take her to the hospital, they covered her with a pale white sheet. "NO!" I yelled, being held back by the police as the ambulance drove away. I sank to the ground and wouldn't stop crying. I had lost everyone I loved. At least I had my boyfriend.

The day after grandmother passed, I sat on the couch all day, staring out the window and remembering her. I didn't even cry. I remembered when my grandfather died, and grandmother refused to cry. I made sure to follow her footsteps. Everytime I felt tears coming, I would spit in a cup and look at the ceiling. My boyfriend didn't even talk to me all day. I knew he didn't love me, and I didn't love him, so I called him and broke up with him. I was so lonely in that house. My neighbors brought meals, but I never ate them.

I had nothing to do, so remember buying alcohol. I drank until I didn't know where I was or what I was doing. I remember waking up on the beach. After I slept off a hangover, I journeyed to the beach. I sat in my swimsuit even though it was cold out and sat there on the pebble beach. I picked up a stone (which I still have to this day) and rubbed it between my fingers.

It was perfectly round and smooth, white as snow. It was about the size of a quarter. I placed it on the mantle, next to a picture of my grandmother and grandfather. I decided not to have a funeral for my deceased grandmother. I remember laying in bed, just feeling the stone between my fingers and just laying there.

I decided to quit moping. I sat up, showered (the first time that month) and picked cranberries from the store. Grandmother had left the recipe in her worn, wooden recipe box. I picked it up and read the recipe until I memorized it. I gathered the rest of the ingredients and made a dozen pies. I ate 6 of them before getting full. I gave the other 6 to the kind neighbors who had helped me.

I felt a sense of calm when I baked. It was like my body was on autopilot when I cooked, and my eyes were just there to watch. One peaceful night, about 4 months after the death of my grandmother, I heard a faint knocking on my white painted door. I swung it open. It was my neighbor, Sandra. "May I come in?" She asked.

I let her in and poured her some of my grandmother's favorite tea, chamomile. She sipped politely and quietly on it. "I tasted your pie. It was incredible!" Sandra praised. "You really think so?" I asked. That day, I decided I wanted to go to college. One problem, though, remained. I had no money and no means of paying back the money if I took out a student loan.

So I couldn't go. Back then, no one made a fuss about a college degree. Especially not in Kennebunkport. I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life. How would I pay the impending bills? My life was full of questions that I couldn't answer, and it kept me awake at night.

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