Originally posted 9/6/2020
My sweet, sassy grandmother is 96. She is a strong and amazing woman who lived through the depression, World War 2, her solider husband’s return from the war, raising children in a small New Jersey town, a retirement move halfway across the country, and her husband taken too soon after a long and arduous battle with colon cancer. She is an opinionated, old school, pragmatic realist of the highest degree. When I was young, she taught me so many life lessons—sewing, gardening, picking blackberries, embroidery, preparing for winter in the best ways, quilting, baking, and cooking. We sat under the trees singing show tunes when it was too hot to work or play, we played badminton, had piano sing alongs, and watched Cardinals games. We chatted with the neighbors, sharing stories, produce, and the stuff of life. I am thankful that my kids have gotten to spend some time with her, though they don’t know the Grandmom that I know.
In recent years, our relationship has changed. After my grandfather died, she opened up more and more about his final years, stories from the past, and our family history. I have treasured our talks and all that I’ve learned from her. She shared her writing with me, and told me that I should use it to write a book—not a book that anyone would read by her estimation, but a book that would be a way to share family stories. As she has continued to age and dementia has begun to take over, her stories have taken on more nostalgia. Less tied to reality and more tied to relationships and emotions, I have gotten to know so much more about the dynamics of that part of my family.
My goal in the past several years has been to visit her once a month—first to provide some respite when she was living with my mother and then to just stay connected because I know that our days together are growing shorter in number. Each time we’re together, I ask her to take a selfie with me. I always have to remind her what a selfie is and sometimes are better than others in getting her to comply. The pictures I take are for me, so I can remember our time together, knowing that she remembers me in such a different way now. I have been honored to sit by her bedside when she has been in the hospital a number of times in the past couple of years, thankful that I can provide comfort when she is confused and scared and not understanding why she is there. I have become the fierce advocate she has always been for me.
I’m looking forward to sharing more stories about her—life lessons and rambling from Grandmom—in the coming days.
Thanks for reading! 😊 EW