Great Granny Grace

She was the one who started my lifelong love of books and Gin Rummy.  She was the most interesting person I have ever known and my one regret is not writing down every story she ever told me, because she had loads and they were all so interesting.

If your mom dies when you’re forty-two, are you still an orphan? That’s what I was thinking as we drove to Connecticut.  My aunt had called the night before to tell us that granny was in the hospital again.  So here we were on our way.  We stopped at McDonald’s, my sister and I fought over the front seat.  A typical trip up to granny’s.  We were quieter than usual though.  Each of us absorbed in our own thoughts and memories.

Finally reaching the hospital four hours later, we walked into granny’s room. My mom started crying right away.  Whenever my mom cries I always feel uncomfortable, I just don’t know what to do.  This wasn’t the way it had been all those other times.  If I had come straight home after school instead of hanging out with my friends, or if we hadn’t stopped for food, maybe we would have gotten there before she lost consciousness and we could have talked a bit.  It would have made it easier.

All those other trips to the hospital, she had been fine by the time we arrived. I guess three years of emphysema does that to a person.  You simply assume that in a couple of days, granny will go home, just like she did all those other times.  Besides, she was only sixty-seven, I still had to ask her a million things and she still had to tell me all her stories again that I had already heard.  I always wanted to hear them again.

We were all there, my mom, my aunt, my two cousins, Kathryn and Caleb, even my little sister.  We took turns holding her skinny hand.  My sister swears her hand was squeezed back, but I don’t know. We sat there for three hours.  You know the kind of hour I’m talking about, the long kind, the kind where you’re waiting for something to happen. Why had she signed a non resuscitation order? Of course, as much as it hurt, we all realized that granny wouldn’t be happy any other way. So this was the only way for her.

Half the time we were crying, half the time we were laughing.  Like pregnant women we had our ups and we had our downs, remembering granny.  Her breathing got lighter and lighter until you couldn’t hear it anymore. Finally the doctor came in and told us that was it.  And that was it, no dramatic flinging of anyone on the bed, no mouth to mouth, no frantic shock attempts.  Just us cleaning out her drawers and packing up her little pink sneakers. She liked pink sneakers a lot.  Then it was just us walking to the car and driving to my grandma’s house, which is where my aunt lives too.

Ever get that feeling that something didn’t really happen? I get that a lot. Especially about granny.  I just think she’s coming down to visit soon, or coming for Easter, or we’re going to visit her soon.  I wait for her to suddenly pop up, her arms full of books she found for us to read and cards for that Rummy game that went on way past 500. 

The last thing I packed up when I left her house was a little painted box I had bought for her in Russia.  It has seemed perfect for her. I almost didn’t want to have it again.  It didn’t seem right.  But now I’m glad I have it. I keep some change in it that I found in the pocket of her jacket that I wear sometimes. I wonder if maybe she was going to buy a newspaper or a pack of gum with that change.  Sometimes when I have a day that I miss her more than others, I’ll take the box down and think about how much I miss her.  I’ll think about how I miss her jokes that could make us all laugh.  I’ll think about how I miss her love of butter and New York bagels,  crossword puzzles, Skor candy bars, Paris fashion, good books, Nivea hand cream, her back roller, sleeping on the floor and most of all how much she loved us.

Her four children are as unique as her personality was.  Each one is special.  My uncle Mark, he’s the artist.  His work is even in galleries. Of course his biggest gallery is our house, along with his biggest fans.  My aunt Vangie, she’s the musician. She’s a singer and a guitarist in a band.  They just made a demo.  My uncle David, he’s just my Uncle David.  He’s schizophrenic.  He converted to Judaism and gives away all the money and clothes my mom and aunt give him.  Last there’s my mom.  She’s the oldest.  She’s the mom.  When disaster hits, Gretchen will be there to clean up the mess and cook for everyone.  She really misses her mom.

One day, after an especially competitive Trivial Pursuit game (my family takes competition very seriously) my mom looked over at me and said-

“I think Granny really would have enjoyed all of this, don’t you”

I nodded and smiled, looking away, anywhere but my mom’s eyes where I can see the tears shining brightly, almost as brightly as my own.

All of this from my little petite, five foot, ninety pound Grandma.  The strongest person I know.  I wish she was still here to give me advice or so I can tell her how much I miss her and love her.