On many occasions growing-up I was told that I looked like
my grandmother’s grandchild, and as I got older I took immense pride in our
similar features. I always
remember thinking how cute she was.
Her big eyes would crinkle when she laughed, and she always showed only
one row of teeth. I remember when
we all started passing her in height, how much the boys would make fun of her
and she would pretend to get saucy about it like it bothered her that she only
came up to everyone’s armpit in the giving of farewell hugs. I remember her stories, how my mother
often joked that they got a little more interesting every time she told
them. I remember loving to listen
to gossip about my parents as youngsters, running around, staying out late, and
my mother’s scary teenage bedroom.
This story interested me immensely, and I used it as ammunition in my
own fight for up keeping of my bedroom at home. I remember her slippers, how she wore them everywhere she
went after having her toenails removed, which leads me to remember how bad I
felt one time when I stepped on her foot unaware of her recent surgery as a
little girl.
I remember the old house, before our family cabin was
built. I remember her reminding us
about the four little monkeys who jumped on the bed when she would walk in on
us cousins doing exactly that on her and grandpas mattress while watching TV. I remember how she used to buy us these
barrels of pickles, and roll her eyes jokingly when she discovered that we had
inhaled the entire jar by the end of our visit. I remember Easter egg hunts, and climbing up the trees to
reach the eggs hidden in the branches, after all, the hardest ones to find
always had a dollar in them. I
remember my first encounter with a bee sting, how I had stepped on an
under-ground nest in the yard and ended-up with my first sting just below my
shoulder, running to the deck crying for a band aid, and how she met me at the
screen door with a soapy cloth and a cartoon one all the while assuring me that
I wasn’t, in fact, poisoned with a deadly serum. I remember being afraid of the basement unless she was down
there, and how she picked up a daddy-long-leg once by that old fireplace to
prove to us that they weren’t that scary.
It is also the house where she told me that every fly was her friend,
and they were all named Elmer, so that I wouldn’t be scared when they landed on
me or my food.
And her Christmases.
There is not a celebration world-wide that could ever take the place or
the memories of my Christmases growing-up.
The anticipation and the excitement of seeing boxes and
boxes of presents piled higher than the Christmas tree was tall.
They were the Christmases that all kids
dreamed of having. The cookies and sugary goodies that she would spend hours
making before our arrival, and spend hours after trying to replenish as we
munched throughout the day.
I
remember how she sat there watching us open our gifts, her anticipation of our
surprised and excited reactions as we each opened box after box of the presents
she picked out for us.
I remember
thinking, how funny it was, that she got so much joy and delight from seeing us
kids open our gifts.
And I will
forever be amazed at how our gifts were picked out for each one of us, at how
she must have planned and shopped all year for what to get us.
Christmas was her favorite time of the
year, and in turn, all of ours as well.
The cabin to me will always be a huge part of my
childhood. Spending weeks without
our parents running around wild, going for boat rides, tube rides, and learning
to water ski. I remember one time,
when she made SPAM sandwiches for lunch, and not one of the grand kids would it
them until she told us it was our only ticket to go outside and play, but how
she never made them again after that meal. I remember once when she had an old blanket and some stuffing,
and she helped us each make our own stuffed animal to teach us how to sew. I remember how she would turn off the
lights in the family room at night, and switch on all her houses. She always had candy lying around too,
and if she ran out of candy, she would whisper to us to go look in her purse
for some cough drops.
Getting older we got to go out and shop with her and our
mothers, and in the chaos of black Fridays she was the most organized shopper
there, leaving the store most often with everything she came to purchase, and
anything we had thrown in the cart during the process. And her coupons! She was one savvy shopper, she always
stood-up and defended any discount or magazine price that she handed the teller
at kohls. And you can be sure, that
that receipt was double-checked immediately after leaving the vicinity for any
corrections that needed calling attention to. J
Among these memories and many others, I remember the day
that I heard that we had been diagnosed with cancer.
I remember taking a walk around the park with my thoughts,
and calling my cousin Mikey to discuss the situation.
I remember crying the first time I hugged her and felt the
difference in her body-weight.
I
remember searching for the right moment to tell her that I was proud of her,
that I wasn’t angry with her for habits, something I never got the chance to tell
her, but that I know was important for her to have heard.
I remember telling every customer at
Super America that came in for a pack of smokes that they were bad for them,
until I had angered enough customers and was asked nicely to stop with the
friendly warnings.
And I remember
being scared, when I would see her in pain, when she couldn’t hide it.
She was herself though, for us, as much
as she could be throughout the end.
And I will always appreciate her effort to buy a little more time to
spend with all of us, even though it meant harsh treatments for herself.
I love my grandmother.
And I miss her dearly. Everyday something reminds me of her. My drawer full of her
pot-holders, the picture of her wearing a dinosaur cap on her last Christmas
with that one row of teeth smile and those crinkly bright eyes that I pass in
my hallway, or the tiny mouse that I had tattooed on my ankle in her
memory.
To me, my grandma is not gone. And she never will be.
I will forever miss her hugs, her smile, her laugh, and her loving
personality, but I wont ever forget them.
My family will never feel complete without her, but because we grew-up
with her, we will always be a family.
The things that she taught us, the joy that she brang to us, and the
memories that she gave us are always going to keep us together, no matter how
far apart we grow in the years to come.
And in the end, she gave us all many gifts that will forever
continue to give. They were not
wrapped with a bow or purchased with any coupons, but I know she is still
watching as we enjoy them.
