Grandma

When my grandfather passed away, we sort of knew was coming.  There was time to prepare, time to gather our thoughts and reflect about his noble life, our relationships with him, and how losing him would impact the life of each person in our family and other people who loved and respected him.

Grandma decided to take a different route.

Mary Ruth made a quick and quiet exit, leaving us all a little stunned and befuddled. We feel content that she has been able to reunite with Grandpa and has been able to leave behind her physical pains and troubles here on earth, but that is coupled with sadness and regret over not having time to say goodbye or comfort her more when the end was near.

So now we are left to comfort one another in her absence.  This is my way of coping and comforting: putting pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard - - not as poetic sounding) to save memories and stories that will forever be Grandma.  As the oldest of her 12 grandkids, I was fortunate enough to have had the most time with her - - and then everybody else came along and I had to share all of the attention.  Humpf.  Just kidding.  Due to this fact, I think some of my memories are distinct - - or unique - - - maybe even weird - - while at the same time, I’m sure that my aunts, uncles, cousins, my parents or anyone else who knew my grandma will be able to relate in many ways.

Chocolate pudding pie, Planter’s cheese balls, Ande’s chocolate mints, Ragu spaghetti, vanilla ice cream with Hershey’s chocolate sauce, and Klondike bars.  None of these are glamorous, but these are Grandma’s comfort foods.  They remind me of her house, her essence . . . just her.  I spent the night at her house quite a bit, and she would always make me waffles in her waffle iron.  They were delicious . . . and probably contributed to some added childhood pudge that I carried around with me at the time.  I loved those waffles so much that I had my mom come to my kindergarten class to try to duplicate them.   The waffle iron blew a fuse.  No one got to share in my precious waffles!! To this day I cannot replicate the flavor, nor can I find a waffle iron like hers.  This is probably best . . .for my figure anyway.

Our grandparents lived by a little man-made lake.  I used to think that living by this lake was one of the most luxurious attributes of their home. Grandma always had plenty of bread from her breadbox to tote down to lake for feeding the fish.  Rolling up gummy bread pebbles between our fingers, we’d sit on the dock dropping them down to into the murky water, looking to see how far down we could see the little bluegills.  Sometimes we’d spot a turtle or a snake.  Other times, she’d alert me to that rubber-band twang of a frog call.  The lake had a small beach, and in the summers I would take a towel down and go swimming.  My grandma had a beach!! What other fourth grader could say that?  My best friend Susan and I spent the night at Grandma’s house once, and it felt like we were on summer vay-cay.  We got to sleep upstairs in my mom and aunts’ old room, Grandma made us waffles, and we went to the beach at the lake.  I’d book that same vacation tomorrow if I could.

Along with the lake, Grandma reminds me of nature in general.  She loved to watch birds.  Her back yard was a virtual aviary.  We’d wait and watch for hummingbirds, her favorite, to drink from her feeder that was placed right by the backdoor to her house.  We’d sit and look out the big picture window in her living room and watch finches, blue jays. cardinals, sparrows, and orioles perch on the birdfeeders hanging from the backyard trees.  Sometimes, we’d watch Grandpa rig up an anti-squirrel device on one of the birdfeeders. “Oh, Earl,” she’d say and shake her head. There were bird books on the coffee tables, just incase we spotted something new we’d never seen before.  Grandma was the first person to teach me that Canadian geese mate for life.  We were driving up the road to her house when we saw one looking lost and sad with its mate lying on the ground.  She stopped the car for a minute, told me about their forever partnerships, and we both looked at each other and started crying.  Since then, I can’t see a pair of geese without thinking of my grandparents. 

Of the lessons my grandma taught me, one of the most resonant was to love your spouse no matter how much he drives you crazy.  My grandpa was a do-it-yourselfer.  He was always building something, fixing something, mowing something, planting something, cutting something, and he could often be found . . . on the roof.  My grandfather being on the roof made Grandma a nervous wreck.  She would go outside with him and hold the ladder, phone in pocket in the event that he fell.  She would call my mom and say, “Your father’s on the roof again.”  I used to mistake her nerves for anger until I grew mature enough to realize that she loved him so much that she couldn’t bear for him to have an accident.  She did not want to be the heart-broken goose.  My grandparents were not outwardly affectionate towards each other, but they raised a wonderful family of five children, for whom they were there every step of the way, through the births of twelve grandchildren, new home purchases, holidays, events for their friends, volunteer work.  They had a steady, consistent, and constant type of love - - a time-honored commitment that is admirable and something to emulate.  My grandfather did things that made my grandma say, “Oh, murder,” but she loved him anyway, and she was always there to hold the ladder.

I could go on about specific memories.  I have stories about Grandma that are dear to my heart, like when she would have me say, “Open sesame,” to her garage door and make me think I had opened it magically while she secretly pressed the garage-door opener, or the times she would pick me up from school and be crying because I was just growing up too fast.  But I suppose the most important role of my grandma’s to remember - - for all of us to remember - - is something that we should carry on in our own lives, and that would be the role of the caretaker.  According to my mom, Grandma took care of her older relatives, driving over to Norwalk sometimes twice a week to make sure that they were okay.  Her own mother, my great-grandmother, lived with my grandparents after her husband passed away, and my grandmother cared for her until she was well into her nineties.  Grandma, of course, took care of and raised her own children and each one of us grandkids, including my sister, who is severely mentally and physically handicapped.  She supported my mom though the life-changing event of having my sister and never let her down when she needed a break or some extra help.  My immediate family - - mom, dad, Kathy, and I - - couldn’t have carried on as well as we did without her love and support. 

I think the best way to honor my grandmother’s life is to remember the things she has taught me and pay it forward by passing them on to people in my own life.  Most of my memories and stories of Grandma include helping, caring for, loving others, and making others feel special.  My own children were fortunate enough to know my grandmother for a short time.  They’ve fed the fish, they’ve seen the birds, but I have a lot of time to teach them about caring for others and constant, unfaltering support.   I know that we will all carry Grandma in our hearts as we take her spirit and make it a part of our own. It will be hard to be without her here, but the stories and lessons she left us with to carry on will be a constant reminder of the time we shared with her while she was with us.