This will be a very long post about my Grandma. Because I want to remember her. And I miss her.
My Grandma died. Super expectantly. The day we got to Paris. I am sad. Very sad. Like the empty inside kind of sad. And it sucks. She was not supposed to die. She was supposed to live to 100 with a gin and tonic in her hand. Or a coffee. And my Grandpa was supposed to be the one handing it to her like he did every morning in bed and every night on the porch. But that's not going to happen now and I'm sad about it. Crazy sad. And a little mad. I'm pretty much working my way through all the stages of grief that some quacked-out doctor made up years and years ago.
I was supposed to be able to tell her about my trip to Paris. She was Really Excited for me to go and Really Excited to hear about it. She told me so when I talked to her the week before I left. But now I don't get to tell her about it. I think that makes this whole deal a lot harder. It's great that I got to talk to her one last time (I don't talk to her very often on the phone) but it's not great that the conversation was never finished. I'm still supposed to tell her about Paris. Now I can't. And I'm not the kind of person who wants to be told, "you can still tell her. She'll hear you." No, she won't. It's not the same and it doesn't help. Not right now.
I miss her so much.
Grandma had two spoons for her coffee. One was supposed to be for stirring and one was for scooping instant coffee. One spoon was supposed to be face up and the other was face down. I can never remember which was which. I love that my grandma drank coffee. Most of my favorite people in the world are coffee drinkers. This talk of coffee leads me to two very important questions:
1. Who will yell at my husband from the other room now when he, for a split second, dares to lay his coffee mug down on the table sans coaster??
2. Who will drink the massive amount of coffee that is still left in the basement?? We're talking quantities that would put Sam's Club and Costco to shame. It's a lot of coffee.
Grandma loved to show me her quilts that she made. Well, that's what I tell myself at least. Maybe she just loved to have a second set of hands to hold them up while she took pictures. Either way, I enjoyed being shown. The pool table in her basement was actually, at one point in time, a pool table. Then she got into quilting. And what better way to lay out your next quilt-ified masterpiece than on a felt-covered pool table?? So the pool table has not actually been a pool table for many, many years. Except for this past weekend... I caught a glimpse of that cleared off pool table and had to turn my head. It has many great memories for me as a pool table, but I prefer to remember it as Grandma's work station.
Sometimes I wonder how many people got to see all the sides of Grandma. Grandma, to me, was always just.... Grandma. Always determined and decisive. Always happy. Always glad to talk to someone. Always glad to put me, my husband, and our two little girlies up for a week or two. Always glad when someone came to visit. And the best part- she let you know it too. She made me feel like I did her a favor every time we came to visit :) How awesome of a feeling is that?? How awesome is the person who can make you feel like that?? Damn Awesome.
But there was more to Grandma than just being Damn Awesome. I'm sure my Grandpa knows it. Maybe her kids know it too. I spent two days thinking about whether or not to include this "beyond being Damn Awesome" part of my memoir. It's a little sad and super personal. But I decided the quacked-out doctor from years and years ago would probably say it was a "good idea" and "therapeutic". The two glasses of wine I've had tonight concur. So here it goes:
Grandma apologized to me once. Years and years ago. She didn't say she was sorry, she apologized. There's a difference.
She found out I was upset with her. This was true- I was very upset with her. I was mad at her and sad at her and felt like she was being mean to me on purpose and for no reason. That's the truth. Then I had a breakdown in front of a little birdie. The little birdie told Grandma. Now, let me tell you what Grandma didn't do:
1. She didn't say "pish posh silly Eileen is just being sensitive"
2. She didn't say "I'm sorry you feel that way" and move on
3. She didn't pull some other half-ass one-line "sorry" on me
4. She didn't ignore the situation
5. She didn't get mad or sad or upset with me in return
She called me. Right away. And apologized. I remember it being the most heartfelt, genuine, and eloquent apology ever spoken. She was genuinely concerned that she had made me feel that way. She was sorry her actions had caused me pain. Whether or not my reaction to her actions was "legit" or not was never an issue for her. All that mattered to her was that I was hurting. She let me know beyond a doubt that making me feel that way was never her intention - not just by saying those words, but by saying it in a way that made me believe, beyond a doubt, that she really and truly meant it. And she did.
How many people can say they have put aside every ounce of pride, let down every wall of defensiveness, and removed all aspects of stubbornness to genuinely apologize to someone? I am almost 30 years old and can't say that I've been on either side of that question... except for this one time. Damn Awesome. That's what my Grandma is. Damn Awesome.
July 2013
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