Its been almost 10 years to the day since my Grandma passed away. She was born in 1919, so that means this year she would be over 100. I can hear her giggle like she used to when I would tell her she was in her 90’s. “Grammy, you’re turning 92 this year”, and she would just giggle and say something like, “Oh my word.” My Grandma was the loveliest person I’ve ever met, everyone that knew her knew only of her kindness. She was my fathers mother, she was the only grandparent I had. She was all I needed. When my sister and I were little she would be there when we got home from school to take care of us. To cut my grilled cheese sandwich into “little men”. My Grandma never had a bad word to say about anyone. The way I miss her is still so palpable I’m crying as I write this.
For the past few weeks my Grandma, or “Grammy” as I called her always, has been on my mind a lot. I have wondered about her inner world, her struggles, how she felt as a parent. I thought about how everyone always said how sweet and kind she was but how no one ever asked her how she was doing, how she was really doing. Or maybe I was sheltered from those conversations. I wonder if she was lonely. I think about how when I was 12 and my parents divorced, it was right around that same time my Grammy experienced her first set of strokes. Things were never the same in so many ways after that, I stopped going to her apartment for sleepovers. She had to move into assisted living. She had more strokes as I was a teenager, my dad was the main caretaker. I would visit her with him. It was so difficult to see her this way. Forgetful, at this point still remembering who I was at least. When I found out I was pregnant, I decided to visit her. This was difficult for her to understand, she never really grasped who my son was after he was born. So it went on this way until I was 25, my son was 6, she slowly, slowly passed away before our eyes. One of the last times I saw her where she could still speak, I brought my boyfriend at the time with me. She said, “Make sure you take care of her”, as we were leaving. I couldn’t turn around. I didn’t want her to see me crying.
Sometimes now I wish I had turned around. I wish I had said more. I wish I told her how much of an impact she had on my life, on how I parent. I wish I could tell her that I idolize her. I wish I could have more time with her as an adult. But now I just have her things, old pictures, costume jewelry. Postcards she wrote back and forth with her mom during WWI, her Bible from the ’20s.
But the reason I felt compelled to write this today was not because of what I still have, but what I gave away. I used to have her books she read, I had them after she passed away and they must have been lost in the move into my house. When I was on my way to my full blown breakdown, I decided that I needed to give two pieces of her jewelry away to my old friends nieces, to carry on my Grandma’s legacy (or something). It made sense as I was spiraling, but now two years later, I’m beating myself up for making that decision. I can’t take it back and now those things are gone forever.
So today, I displayed what is left of her costume jewelry on a silver plate in my room. Her beaded evening purse is near that old picture of her displayed on my side table. I have her hummingbird and her ornament. Her postcards. Her Bible. Her turquoise jewelry my Grandpa made she never took off. She is everywhere. It’s still not enough.
And maybe thats why I’m writing this. I was thinking about what would make it ok on my drive to the post office. Would I feel at ease if I asked for that jewelry back? If I could find those books, would it somehow make me feel different? I guess I don’t really know, and I also don’t know why I gave those things up so freely at the time. I would guard the rest of her things with my life at this point. Maybe I was in denial at how much I missed her. Maybe it was too painful to see her everywhere. Either way, I have to forgive myself for letting those things go. I have to be grateful for everything I still have. I have to accept that no matter what I did or didn’t keep she can’t come back, and that’s really the only thing that I want anyways.
The Girl Without A Face 