To the chagrin of her seemingly devout Catholic grandmother, Molly Dunn's parents decided not to baptize their children. Family discord and many uncomfortable moments followed. Years later, while Molly was a teenager, her grandmother reveals that she (the grandmother) has not been to confession in 35 years. Molly is shocked to learn that her grandmother wasn't quite as Catholic as Molly had assumed.
Molly Dunn is a disabled writer and former student of mine. She has worked in the US Senate, earned a graduate degree from Oxford, and spent time in a Chicago psych ward. Her weekly podcast, Ketamine Insights, explores mental illness and psychedelic medicine from a patient's perspective.
Molly Dunn's sestina dedicated to her grandmother
Us, Together
The two of us were alone together
Twice in our lives, sick,
We each took a turn, we cared
For the other, we loved
Actively. To me, she was more than Grandma
And in death, I find that she is not gone.
Tomorrow they say she’ll be 12 years gone
And only today I realized that we were together
When I had scarlet fever, that it was Grandma
Who sat by my side. Confident, competent with the sick.
It was happenstance, my parents worked, but her love
Would mean the world for decades. Her care
Would be a hope, a prize, I cared
So much about her judgements, still ringing years after she’s gone.
She was so mean. But I knew. I knew about her love.
Because she’d nod at me, quickly, in approval. Because we’d been together
When I was sick.
I didn’t see until today that it had been Grandma.
When, after years, I came home and hugged my Grandma,
Felt how frail she had become, it took my breath. I cared
And I stayed with her then. I held her, sick,
Until, only months later, she was gone.
I would dream for years of us - back together
Healthy or sick, confident and competent in our love.
My memories of her taught me the thing about love.
How it travels not just distance but time. Grandma,
Who surely baptized me in secret, who, together
With so many of us, hid - through drink - our caring,
Our pain, our loneliness for each other. In a way, she was often gone.
In a way, we were both so sick
All along. The kind of sick
One lives with, despite love, because of love.
We thought she’d never die. Now, 12 years “gone,”
When I love, when I turn my Claudagh inward, I think of Grandma.
Me and her, we do nothing more than care.
That’s not an easy way to be. Thank God we’re in this together.
Molly Dunn
November 12, 2021
Tell Me What Happened features the music of Susan Salidor.
Get Susan Salidor’s One Little Act of Kindness Children’s Book
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To the chagrin of her seemingly devout Catholic grandmother, Molly Dunn's parents decided not to baptize their children. Family discord and many uncomfortable moments followed. Years later, while Molly was a teenager, her grandmother reveals that she (the grandmother) has not been to confession in 35 years. Molly is shocked to learn that her grandmother wasn't quite as Catholic as Molly had assumed.
Molly Dunn is a disabled writer and former student of mine. She has worked in the US Senate, earned a graduate degree from Oxford, and spent time in a Chicago psych ward. Her weekly podcast, Ketamine Insights, explores mental illness and psychedelic medicine from a patient's perspective.
Molly Dunn's sestina dedicated to her grandmother
Us, Together
The two of us were alone together
Twice in our lives, sick,
We each took a turn, we cared
For the other, we loved
Actively. To me, she was more than Grandma
And in death, I find that she is not gone.
Tomorrow they say she’ll be 12 years gone
And only today I realized that we were together
When I had scarlet fever, that it was Grandma
Who sat by my side. Confident, competent with the sick.
It was happenstance, my parents worked, but her love
Would mean the world for decades. Her care
Would be a hope, a prize, I cared
So much about her judgements, still ringing years after she’s gone.
She was so mean. But I knew. I knew about her love.
Because she’d nod at me, quickly, in approval. Because we’d been together
When I was sick.
I didn’t see until today that it had been Grandma.
When, after years, I came home and hugged my Grandma,
Felt how frail she had become, it took my breath. I cared
And I stayed with her then. I held her, sick,
Until, only months later, she was gone.
I would dream for years of us - back together
Healthy or sick, confident and competent in our love.
My memories of her taught me the thing about love.
How it travels not just distance but time. Grandma,
Who surely baptized me in secret, who, together
With so many of us, hid - through drink - our caring,
Our pain, our loneliness for each other. In a way, she was often gone.
In a way, we were both so sick
All along. The kind of sick
One lives with, despite love, because of love.
We thought she’d never die. Now, 12 years “gone,”
When I love, when I turn my Claudagh inward, I think of Grandma.
Me and her, we do nothing more than care.
That’s not an easy way to be. Thank God we’re in this together.
Molly Dunn
November 12, 2021
Tell Me What Happened features the music of Susan Salidor.
Get Susan Salidor’s One Little Act of Kindness Children’s Book
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