Memorial

I wrote this on Facebook five days after my grandma died in 2017, a few weeks before my 40th birthday. I thought it was on the blog and I came back to add something of an update maybe at the end. I won't be able to visit the grave too much, but I can think here and add thoughts.

October 26, 2017

About my grandma, MaMa-

I regret not living closer and getting to see them every day or making the trip as an adult more. There was still a lot I wanted to ask, stories I wanted to hear again, things I wanted to know that now I never will. But living away wasn't all bad; there are some bright spots and I'll treasure them more now.

Maybe the scarcity made time with them all the more special. They felt like home. For several weeks a year we were not just visitors, but nearly felt like their children. I'd wake up the first few days with that panic of disorientation, but gradually realizing I was at MaMa and PaPa's, excitement would replce that feeling immediately. That contrasts sharply with now, the opposite occurs, the optimism of a new day is replaced by the pain of loss as you gradually come to. But whether we had special plans or just helped them in the barber shop or organized negatives for the photography business, it was going to be awesome. (I don't know how much we helped, really. Probably we kids fought over who got to clean barber shop chairs and maybe what we organized needed reorganizing. They used that word and I believed them. :) )

I loved waking up to the smell of coffee and MaMa trying to get dressed before we woke. She wasn't dressed without her earrings, she said. We'd try to catch her without her teeth. . . because we were kids and that was puzzling to me why she was embarrassd, but she was fast. I'd wander into the kitchen in my pjs like we lived there and eat breakfast watching the birds in the birdbath and hummingbird feeders. I loved the sounds of PaPa getting ready for a day at his barber shop, the doors opening and closing, the intercom coming on and listening to the small talk.

Trips with them were always an adventure. Driving with them wasn't a race against the clock or a test for your bladder muscles- they understood that sometimes you need to stop for ice cream or have a sit down meal or stop at these mythical places called truck stops. Relax, live in the moment, don't be in a rush to get from one place to the next - both in the immediate sense and the longer term.

MaMa taught me a lot of things, not least, how to hide yourself a stash of candy and take a minute for yourself. But seriously, my grandparents taught me things that I have tried to live by and that I still aspire to. Their models of openness, fairness, unconditional love, empathy, service and love of truth have guided me all my life and will continue to do so. (Whether or not you or they agreed with how I see the world - I don't mean to offend anyone in saying they helped shape me and I'm grateful.) He fought for what he believed in, she sacrificed everything for those she loved, they both served others continually and made you feel that what you were doing, whatever it was, was interesting and important. Living far away, I couldn't always be there for them, but their love was always deep and wide enough to reach us wherever we were. I hope I can keep their individual senses of humor close by, it's the only way to live. MaMa always had a quirky off-handedly subtle sense of humor she brought to her commentary on life I hope I can channel one day. I'll miss her the rest of my life.

Nov. 3, 2018 - This year I felt a heaviness and I didn't know why - a sense of something unfinished. I couldn't remember what I'd done for my 40th and couldn't remember why. One should remember such a momentous milestone. People in my peer group plan fabulous vacations and throw huge parties and have memory books made about them. What happened to me? It bothered me as I thought about what I might want to do for this birthday if I had unlimited time and money or what realistically I'll do in this reality. I had a fuzzy memory of thinking I can do something for 41; it'll be fun and random.

Then I did the search. I found what I'd written only a year ago. How is it only a year? When you blank, shouldn't six years have elapsed at least? It's only been one very long year. Maybe that's Trump's fault. Maybe my psyche's. I tucked all the sadness away, I think, because no one really wants to see that. They want to know that you're okay. So I tried. I shoved it down deep where I put all the rest of the things I can't deal with now, but intend to at some point.

I remember eating at a favorite Mexican restaurant the week you passed. I took a crappy blurry picture (see there) and for some reason I kept it. Halloween was coming and there was a fun Halloween store we'd been going to for several years (it isn't there this year). Sure to lift the spirits (get it??) and get the kids costumed in a rather hassle free if entirely too expensive way. Christmases won't be the same, so I hope you don't mind my adopting Halloween as my most favorite.

I'm 41 now. I've resolved this year to call this one hair gray now instead of merely sun-bleached. I thought you'd appreciate that or think it funny. Or maybe I'll ignore it. 

But I remember now. I surprised myself with the wave of sadness that came with not receiving a card for my 40th. You always sent them so they arrived on the exact day, it was always amazing to me as a kid. I must have told myself you'd written one in advance because I honestly expected to find it in my mail box last year. Not logically, but from somewhere else. I didn't do that this year. It's still sad.