Are You There, God? It's Me, Jakey

My grandma died in October. She had 13 grandchildren and seven great-grandchildren. I was the only one of them who was not at her funeral, because I was in New York wasting my life.

I didn't cry when she died. She had been suffering from a brain tumor for over a year, and my mother and aunt were functioning as her caregivers. Still, I always assumed I would see her again, and did not know that our July trip to her care center, where we had a barbecue and I was too lazy to climb over the table and hug her, would be the last time I would see her.

I sent an e-mail to be read aloud at her funeral, speaking of how she would always take Dane and me to movies we weren't allowed to see and would give us Pepsi whenever she wanted. Then I never thought about her. Consumed in my own drama, I put my thoughts about her away, knowing I would deal with them again someday.

It is Mother's Day. At 2 in the morning, I was on the toilet having my usual bout of Irritable Bowel Syndrome. It is perhaps wrong to have spiritual experiences on the toilet, but that is where I usually have them, because I am alone with my thoughts or listening to Delilah.

I folded my hands and talked to God. I started sobbing and I said I was sorry for doing this on the toilet, but hopefully He didn't care about stuff about that. I asked him to put Grandma on the line. I don't know what she was doing, but God went to go get her. I wonder what time zone she is in.

And I finally talked to her. I told her I was sorry that I wasn't at her funeral, that I didn't call enough, that I didn't get my driver's license and drive up to see her. She told me it was okay. She asked me how New York was. I told her I was sorry she could never go see it. I told her I was screwing everything up, and she told me that I could still do it, and she always knew she would see my name in lights. I said I was sorry for talking to her while I was on the toilet. I asked her if she ever plays Scrabble in heaven.

Then I knew I would be okay.