30DoW - in loving memory of my Grandma

I have truly been blessed with the best and most interesting of grandparents, so it was hard to choose just one to write about (and I feel a strong desire to revisit this topic at a later date). There’s my paternal grandmother, who was Wiccan and drop-dead gorgeous Dolly Parton-style. There was my paternal grandfather who defined the phrase “larger-than-life”. And there is my maternal grandfather who has become a huge part of my life in the last 5 years, sharing my love of politics, finances and general life philosophies. But this entry is devoted to the woman who played such a huge role in what kind of woman I would later become.

My maternal grandmother was known simply as Grandma. She was my favorite by far, because honestly, I was her favorite. She was born a bastard child from a prostitute mother in Taunton, Massachusetts, so she was never very fond of men. Looking back on her life, I’m positive that she married for security alone, as I doubt she would ever know how to actually love a man (including her son and grandsons). She never finished school; instead she went to work in a factory at the age of 12 or so. Because of that, she was illiterate into adulthood. I believe she taught herself to read at some point, because she was always working on crossword puzzles or word searches.

My first memories of her were when I was about 4 years old. She took a job at the Dairy Queen across the street from my daycare and I was convinced she was the coolest Grandma ever. When I was 5 years old, she took me out of daycare for a week to watch Luke and Laura get married (from General Hospital). I can remember it was a big fricken deal for both of us. After, I remember spending weekends watching the Late, Late Show (this supplied me with an impressive knowledge of “cult classics” such as Cat People, Godzilla and King Kong) while eating chocolate ice cream and then eventually falling asleep on the couch with her. I always slept cuddled up with her, either on the couch or in the king-sized bed her and my step-grandfather shared. I remember her being feisty, opinionated and fiercely competitive. We often played games together, everything from Solitaire to Rumikub. My step-grandfather even built a marble board the size of their dining room table that held 8 players. I remember sitting in my Grandma’s lap while she “killed everyone” at the table and me and her laughing the more pissed everyone else became. Christmastime was the BEST. She would give me a Sears Christmas Catalog and tell me to circle everything I wanted with a red marker. I think I enjoyed the shopping more than actually receiving the presents. But with her, I always received everything I wanted. The Holly Hobby canopy bed with matching gingham curtains and rugs, the prettiest of dresses and every doll my heart desired. I later learned that she was terrible with money. She had a bad habit of bouncing checks (something I also picked up from her in my 20's). But it didn't matter to her. She wanted to give me (and my mom) the world, and it didn't matter the cost or consequences (the cops actually came to her house with a warrant once).

At one point her health started to deteriorate. I remember she had to have a double mastectomy and my shock at seeing her naked after the surgery (they were not concerned about image, only function in the 80’s.) Shortly after, she was diagnosed with Emphysema. My mom went by her house everyday to help care for her and on a number of occasions I remember helping her take a bath. I can still hear her apologizing that I had to bathe her, and seeing her feelings of embarrassment. I assured her that I didn’t mind at all, while hoping to hide how uncomfortable I actually felt at the situation. Her health quickly deteriorated and she became more frail and weak.

I was 16 years old when she died. I wasn’t seeing her as often because I was a teenager and completely wrapped in my own world. It was 1992 and Ross Perot was running for President. My mom was a huge supporter of his and took my Grandma to register to vote for the first time in her life. During her last week in the hospital, she watched the Primaries non-stop. The doctors were amazed that she was still alive as her oxygen intake was next to none. But my Grandma was not ready to go. She held on for a week, eventually losing consciousness. The day she died my mom called me from the hospital. “I don’t know that she is going to make it through the night, you need to get up here,” she said. Again, I was 16 and angry, and had a trip to the beach planned that day. “Fine,” I growled, “I’m on my way.” Mom cried and said, “I’ll tell her you’re coming.” 20 minutes later I received the call that my Grandma had died. I believe her last words were “I’m going to vote for Ross Perot.” I also believe that she did not want me there to see her die.

I’d like to say I was torn up inside, but I wasn’t. I don’t remember feeling much of anything, to tell the truth. It wasn’t until 2 years later on the day of high school graduation that it hit me. My Grandma had never missed an event in my life. She was at every dance recital, school play, awards assembly – you name it. And now it was the biggest moment of my life thus far, and she was not there. And it hit hard. The morning of graduation, my mom bought me a dozen peach roses (my Grandma’s favorite color) and said, “she would have wanted these for you.” I remember sitting in my room alone looking at the roses and finally feeling the huge hole in my heart. The same feeling took hold at my first (and second) wedding and again at the birth of my daughter. Even as I write this, I choke back tears at everything she has missed, when she more than anybody (other than my mom) would have wanted to be there.

But then I realize the impact her life has had on my own. She inspired me to be strong, feisty and opinionated. She pushed me to be better and rise above. She taught me not to be a victim, instead to deal with what life has given you and fight with everything you’ve got. Because of her, I desperately wanted to actually love a man, not just need one. I learned that the little things would matter a lot with Isabella. Random trips to get ice cream, playing board games and staying up really late to watch a scary movie. And most importantly, she never failed to show me how much I meant in this world. I felt loved and adored unconditionally. I was the most beautiful and the smartest and the funniest girl in the world. And without having that kind of love, I’m not sure I would have ever known how to give it.