Last night I lost my Grandma. She was 94 years old
and had been living without her husband for over seven years. She was ready to
go. She’d been ready for a while and she left this world peacefully. These
memories are dedicated to my Grandma and Grandpa who are together at long last.
Tip and Jack, this one’s for you:
What I remember most about Grandma, aside from her
spunk and sense of humor, is the adoring eyes of Grandpa and how much he loved
her. I remember a visit they made to my house during my senior year of high
school. Grandpa wanted to get Grandma a nice gift and asked me to take him to
the store. In the car on the way to the local department store he revealed that
he wanted to buy her a nightgown. A deep admirer of the aesthetics of a
woman all of his life, Grandpa was very specific about his nightgown choice. He
wanted something that would flatter her figure. Between the driving "lessons" he would give me while we cruised through town (he was never much of a passenger in his life), he proceeded to tout the
virtues of Grandma's then-80-year-old body to me saying things like, “You know, your
Grandma has a really nice figure. Always has.” At that moment, although
admittedly embarrassed, I saw my 80-year-old Grandma through her husband’s eyes
and I saw her as I never had before. She was beautiful in a timeless way that
few can ever hope to achieve, a loving, devoted wife and mother and the object
of one incredible man’s undying affection. I helped Grandpa pick out a
nightgown befitting royalty for Grandma, the apple of his eye.
Grandma was a fairly peaceful woman. She got along
with most, had a pleasant disposition and a dry sense of humor that I’d like to
think I inherited, at least partially, from her. She did have a running
dispute, her own personal vendetta against one marvel of modern technology: the
television. I don’t know if my memories are amplified because I so desperately
wanted to watch Guiding Light at age
10 at the beach instead of splashing around in the ocean or flying a kite with
my cousins or any number of things that kids “should be doing.” But I felt
constantly persecuted by her insistence that I “turn that infernal thing off!” An
avoider of conflict all of my life, I usually complied and ended up swimming in
the bay with my cousins, riding the waves in the ocean, or chatting with my
family on rocking chairs on the porch. No matter what the alternative activity
was, it was always more enriching and memorable than any episode of Guiding Light so I guess Grandma knew
something I didn’t. While these moments felt like persecution at the time, I
learned a deep appreciation for quality time with family from my Grandmother
and, as a result of her and my Grandpa’s efforts, I know my five cousins as
well as many families know their own siblings. Our dedication to carry on
Grandma and Grandpa’s legacy has led to many recent family reunions. To this
day, every time the television is turned on in the presence of my extended
family, I feel some residual guilt. Mission accomplished Grandma.
After I turned 12 or so, our beach vacations ceased
and we switched to the Western half of the country. We started a new tradition
of meeting at Keystone ski resort in Colorado for a week each spring. Grandma
and Grandpa had always rented the beach houses and they continued to give us
this great gift by renting a ski bungalow every year. By the time our ski week
tradition started, neither Grandma nor Grandpa were able to ski but they
participated none-the-less. They came to the ski lodge with our picnic lunches
every day and we all hopped off the slopes for an hour or so of conversation
and nourishment. They listened intently as we all spoke of our skiing
adventures and mishaps of the morning. Lunch was always a lively occasion and
attendance was mandatory. After our thawing and belly-filling was complete, we’d
gear up and head out. A couple times during each week, Grandma and Grandpa
would hop on the Gondola to watch us collectively come down the mountain
directly under them while the Gondola cruised to it’s destination. This mass
ski required some logistics and many of the more skilled skiers in our group
were forced to wait for the rest of us but we all participated without
complaint for the sake of Grandma and Grandpa. We’d wait until we saw Grandpa’s
hands hanging out the window of the gondola and all start skiing. We’d stop,
look up, and wave to Grandma and Grandpa who waived, smiling and laughing
enthusiastically in return. They may have longed to be hitting the slopes
themselves but we never knew it. They seemed perfectly content to watch us
glide down the mountain as a group, THEIR group, THEIR family, the creation of
the two of them and their love for each other.
And that is how I think of them
now: together at long last, hand in hand, looking down on our growing family,
content with the legacy they left behind.
