Today would have been Grandma's 87th birthday. I had to actually stop and calculate how old she really would have been because she had a habit of "almost" being the next year older, the day after her birthday.
I can't really find the words to express how I feel a mere four months since she's been gone. So instead, I'll post the eulogy I gave for her and the song that the kids sang...
I wasn’t sure I was going to speak today until I woke up after a fitful night of sleeping. Being a woman of many words, perhaps sharing some of them will help ease the raw feeling I have in my heart.
My grandma and I shared a lifetime together in the 37 and a half years I had with her. She was the ultimate teacher, although sometimes more like a Catholic school nun wielding a hair brush rather than a ruler, but you get my drift.
I could regale you with stories of late night ice cream parties or evening spent playing cards when I was young. I could choose to share some memories from my teens, like some of the choice things she would say about my boyfriends, like that she called all of them boy except for Shrimp but he deserved it. She even choose to call Kevin, my husband, boy, up until about 3 weeks ago, when she told him that he was now man.
Instead, I’m going to tell you of some of the sweet times I’ve shared with her in the last few years. Grandma always prided herself on her independence. So when she had her mastectomy, she really truly believed that she’d just drive herself over to the hospital. I put my foot down and said absolutely not.
She was not prepared for the magnitude of which her life would change. She could no longer drive herself around as much, not that she didn’t try. And goodness knows that anyone who knew she was driving would get a shiver down their spine. So, in driving her around, I was able to spend time with her in the van.
She loved to look out the window and was always sharing stories of how the city had changed since she was a little girl. We’d talk about the kids or shared memories. She’d even ask me to teach her things, but those were most questions centered around late night TV on HBO that she didn’t understand.
I also can’t tell you how grateful I was for lengthy waits at the doctor’s office.
The last appointment we went to together was about a month ago. She was so weak and ravaged with pain. I brought a wheel chair and wheeled her upstairs. She was sitting there leaning on her good arm and she whispered, “I never knew how heavy my head was…” I leaned forward and enclosed her in my arms, “I’ll hold your head up.” With her head on my shoulder I could smell her and I was remembering snuggling in bed with her as a child. I’m lost in my reverie when she says, “Stop or I’ll tell them you’re biting me.”
She felt like she was taking up my time. Time she felt could have been better spent, no matter how much I told her that I truly enjoyed being with her. When the time came for her to get more help and to move to a nursing home, she was blessed to share a room with her daughter, Carol.
The words that the children just sang remind me so much of the last few hours of Grandma’s life:
But it's dark and it's late
So I'll hold you and wait
'til your frightened eyes do close
Together, my mother and I were able to hold her hand through the last days and hours of her life. It was a privilege to be there with her in those last moments. And now that her eyes have closed for the last time, we’re still here in the morning.
My grandma inspired that mixture of tears and laughter, of love and strength. Even as she wondered why she was still on Earth, what her purpose in life was, I always knew it was to be my grandma, and my children's great-grandma. That purpose has not ended or changed. She's still my grandma and she will always speak to me with her acerbic wit and wisdom. Will always encourage me to follow my dreams and my heart. Always encourage me to create a safe place for my children. To love my mother, even if she makes me crazy, and to strive to be very best I can be...
