Welch's Grape Soda

A one bedroom apartment in the Bronx; 230 E. 167th St. - Apt. 4F to be exact. This is where I learned that each one of our souls is connected - if only we would remain innocent enough to listen. It could have been the clinking of a metal spoon against a cup of peppermint tea. Maybe it was the slight pop and fizz when she’d snap open a can of Welch’s grape soda that she knew I probably shouldn’t have been drinking. Regardless of what it was, my grandmother, my Yaya taught me all I could ever need to know about love.

The bond between a child and their grandparents is one that I can only hope to one day experience from the other side. I witness it regularly in the moments my youngest calls my parents and asks to speak to his Papa; his best friend. I hear it frequently at the sound of my dad shedding every shadow and demon he has ever faced as he tells this child that he loves him. I experienced it in the moments I’d stay up with my grandmother to watch episodes of Tales from the Crypt. No, it isn’t a show for children, but looking back, it was nothing else in this world mattering for an hour.

These relationships often set the foundation of who we are, and act as a representation of our highest peaks of happiness and innocence. As many others do, my grandmother spoiled me. Whether it be the sour green apple straws from the local market, or being the immoveable barrier between myself and discipline from my parents, she was my person and she never once let me forget that I was hers. The day we lost her was one of the hardest days of my life. I can still remember the sound of the phone hitting the ground as it fell from my mother’s hands with the full weight of a daughter's shattered prayers. I went to school that day, without an explanation, without any insight beyond something being wrong. I can still remember the faces of my family when I finally made it home - How do you explain to a child that their life will never be the same? What stands out amongst the valley of these memories is the last conversation I ever had with her. She had been planning a trip to Jamaica, and we needed to say goodbye - it wasn’t supposed to be the last one, but I guess those decisions aren’t left to us… As my mom and I were leaving, I lost it - Not because I knew that I’d miss her. Not because I wasn’t ready for her to leave. Her flight home was scheduled just a couple of weeks away. When she asked me what was wrong, I told her that she wasn’t coming back. In these moments, we’d expect to be comforted by being told that our fears are nothing more than that, but that isn’t what she told me. Rather, she let me know that everything would be alright. She told me that i’d be okay. She told me to take care of my mom. My grandmother suffered a heart attack while packing her bags the day she was set to come back home.

As I’ve gotten older and have tried my hardest to make my life mean something, I’d be lying if I claimed none of this could be attributed to honoring her memory. Each time I’ve set out to help someone who I knew would never be in the position to pay me back, it’s because I spent years watching my grandmother purposely buy extra groceries, knowing that my mother would show up too prideful to ask for help; of course she’d conveniently have things that she didn’t want to go to waste. So they came home with us. Each time I pushed myself beyond my own limits, it’s because she taught me that the stars are more than just something to wish upon, but they were the foundation for what could be reality. Much of my adult life has been based on a desire to make her proud. I’m not sure if I’ve succeeded in achieving this goal, but I think i’ve done alright.

The relationships and interactions we experience on this earth are more than just physical. Regardless of the emotion, we’ve all encountered people or situations that we could feel either positive or negative energy - It could be described as a “vibe”, it could be described as intuition, or maybe even the “gut feeling” we have all tried to trust. It’s what I felt that day. When physical feelings are associated with this these emotions, scientifically we call this theSomatic Marker Hypothesis- the feelings in the body that are associated with emotions, such as the association of rapid heartbeat with anxiety or of nausea with disgust. What about where there are no physical elements though? What about the stories we hear about people sensing that a loved one is pregnant? What about the feeling of knowing that you’re about to lose one of the biggest pieces of yourself while be centered in a room full of smiles ?

Irrespective of the absence of physical sensations during these moments, I have chosen to link these occurrences to our capacity to connect with others on a deeper level - Something more than any individual or science is capable of explaining. Truthfully, some of these feelings have kept others alive. They’ve kept ME alive more times than I’d like to admit. It’s the ability to feel the heat of someone else’s world being on fire from lightyears away, and somehow managing to find your way to them when they needed something - someone, to hold on to. Without even realizing it, these sensations are something that she instilled in me from an early age.

At this point, I honestly don’t know why I’m writing this, but I need to get it out. Many of us may have similar experiences but as we’ve gotten older, we’ve gotten lost in the storms and complexities we attempt to navigate on a daily basis. I think this might be the beauty of being a grandparent, and I pray to be around to feel it one day - They’ve been around long enough to have finally found their own way out of many of these storms by this point. There are no after-hours meetings or documents that will stand between them and just running in the yard with someone who wants to play. There are no missed dinners caused by someone important at the company messaging them. Nothing and no one will ever be more important than these people and these moments, and they know that. Truthfully, I’m guilty of forgetting this on a regular basis, and I’m sure my family can attest to this fact 😔. Somewhere between the world stopping and trying to live up to expectations that we can’t even remember where and when they’ve been set, we have forgotten… I have forgotten… one day, the person who will want to do nothing more than teach our children about these connections will no longer be able to. As much as I’ve strived to make my grandmother proud, and as I arrive at this point in the piece, maybe she knew what she was doing the entire time. Her final words to me weren’t intended to build hope. They were intended to build faith; a faith that wasn’t based in fear, but one that lets me know that I’ll be okay. Something that, in my darkest moments, I haven’t been able to touch, but I can still feel it.

One day, I’ll stand in my kitchen listening to my children tell me about how the sound of wooden closet doors closing remind them of their Yaya (It’s what they call my mom), or how hearing “Groaowww” (IYKYK) makes them think of their Papa. One day, I’ll ask them to give me 10 more minutes. One day… I’ll tell them about the slight pop and fizz of snapping open a can of Welch’s grape soda.

Claire Nancy Simpson,. Yaya. I hope I’ve made you proud. 🖤