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.

Coke float revisited

7 Aug 2018

Today I had a coke float. Maybe not the best choice on an empty stomach. Or was it? I'm conflicted. One thing I realized is that I probably don't like these as much as I once did. Another thing is that I went through a range of feelings besides a stomachache. 

Taste aside, it made me equal parts really happy and deeply sad. It made me think about childhood summers and grandparents who are no longer with us. The boundless joy and endless possibility of freedom form school, nostalgia for childhood when we were filled with potential as opposed to knowing now that so many of those doors have closed, and the beauty of not having to think about mortality or deal with the reality of people you love not being around forever.

I remember drinking these on occasion with my cousin on my grandparents' back patio in Ohio in the summer when I was maybe eight or nine. It always seemed to be the hottest part of summer, so this time of year makes me crave them even now that I've confirmed that I don't particularly like them anymore. I don't know what the attraction was. Was it the beauty or not having to choose between something to drink and dearly loved ice cream? Was it a dessert my mom didn't serve, but my grandma would? Was it just the relief from playing outside as a kid, losing yourself completely in the way kids do, and then having something cold on your tongue?

I do remember other things, though – watching the birds in the birdbath; the windmill spin out by the neat, house-like shed; the hum of the air conditioner beside us; being right outside the sliding door of the house and watching my grandpa's barber shop customers go in next door, ten feet away; hearing the conversation and laughter of the old guys remembering the old days; the contrast of the cool, covered humidity free concrete porch with the blazing sun on the other side of the railing. And the mugs or cups with which to contain the prized treat – not special by an outsiders standards of beauty by any means, but we had favorites. One was tall and yellow with not the most ergonomic handle with an alligator on the front who was, of course, wearing clothes. Another was a tall, white cup with a red handle with the old Disney characters all around it - goofy and the other dog, Mickey and someone else. Both were from the 70s or before - old and worn, but we loved them. Was there fighting over them amongst my sisters and cousins? Almost certainly, but I can't remember that part.

Would I drink another? Probably.

I don't even know if I'm remembering it correctly. Was it MaMa or PaPa who made it? Exactly what month was it? Was it a treat or consolation prize? Memory is a funny thing. Maybe in all my stories about my childhood, both of my sisters would tell an entirely different tale. The above is just my account. I suppose every memory is like that.