MY GRANDMOTHER (or Gramcracker, as I call her) taught me that it’s never wise to part ways without saying “I love you” to those you care about.  Even if you’re in the middle of the world’s biggest row you always make sure the other person knows you love them.

WHY?  Because if, heaven forbid, something were to happen to either of you and you hadn’t told them you loved them you would spend the rest of you life filled with regret, wishing you’d taken the time to set aside your ego and say those three short but mighty words.

I LOVE YOU.

THIS LESSON was driven home when I was 16 years old.  It was a few days before Thanksgiving holiday and I was leaving Houston to visit my friends in Philly.  Sadly, instead of a fun weekend with friends, we all attended a funeral.

TWO NIGHTS before I arrived my friend and her mom had a huge argument over, of all things, Lollapalooza and a recently torn-off-the-wall-and-thrown-in-the-trash Revolting Cocks poster.  In an eruption of atypical angst-filled teenage rage, my usually sweet tempered friend blasted an “I hate you” over her shoulder as she walked out the door.  In an act of rebellion and anger she stayed out until the wee hours of the morning.  When she returned home she found her father awake on the couch.  He was waiting for her to come home to tell her that her mother was dead.  My friend’s life was shattered and my heart broke for her.

I THOUGHT of all the things they’d never share – proms, graduations, weddings and births.  No chance to make right what had gone wrong.  No last hug.  No I love yous.

I REMEMBER my Mom brought me a cup of hot spiced cider to comfort me and I lost my shit.  Completely.

I SOBBED uncontrollably, overcome with grief and empathy and confronted with the idea of a world without my own mom.

I WORRIED (read as obsessively worried) about my mother’s death since I was four years old but I never fully appreciated exactly what that would entail.  That night I had a taste of that world and it was sickening.

THAT LOSS, combined with the constant warnings issued by my well-meaning Grandma, created my first obsessive compulsion – saying “I love you.”

I DON’T CARE if you’re just running to the corner store to grab a pack of gum, you don’t walk out the door without an “I love you” from me.  I say it to my parents, my husband, my cat, and my friends.  I never miss a chance to tell them I love them.

SO WHY is it that I didn’t say it to my Grandfather more often?  Granted, that side of my family isn’t fond of emoting and is a far cry from being demonstrative, but I’m not.  My feelings are never a secret, so why didn’t I tell him “I love you” more often?

NOW I’M left with loose ends.  Loose ends to trip over and wrap round my heart, becoming a tangled mess with the other loose ends that have found their way there.

Loose ends.  I f*cking hate loose ends.

I love you, Pop Bill.  I wish I’d said it more often.

Kisses & Chaos,

Alli Woods Frederick

images ::  loose ends – quinn dombrowski  ::  mourning – matt sirois  ::  untitled – aloma sand  ::