In Memoriam

My grandmother died a week and a half ago. She was 100 years old. Over the last little while, her quality of life had diminished and it was time; we all knew that. But now there is a huge hole in my life. What am I supposed to do about that?

I know I am fortunate to have had a living grandparent for so long. But now she is gone it is as if a connection to my childhood is gone too. As you grow up your relationship with other family members grows too but, somehow, a grandparent-grandchild relationship changes and yet stays the same. I was simultaneously little Jenny who slept over her house when she was small and the full-grown adult with grown children of her own. I don’t think there was ever a time in my life when she didn’t greet me with a big smile. I can hear her voice saying my name now.

For the last five years I have lived 600 miles away from her. She was always the first person we visited when we went home. Thankfully, we saw her in September when we were last home. She was having a very coherent day and knew all four of us. That makes me happy.

I wanted this post to really express how I felt about Grandma but I am not sure the words are coming so I’m simply going to share a few of my memories. She was a wonderful grandmother and she deserves to be talked about.

She has spent the last 35 years claiming complete responsibility for my happy marriage. She took me on a trip to Germany and Switzerland and I met my husband on that trip. If you ever met my grandma then I can guarantee you heard a romanticized account of our meeting. On a recent visit she told our kids the story four separate times.

Grandma was a wonderful seamstress and made absolutely gorgeous dresses for my sister and me when we were young. The dresses were passed down among friends for years after we outgrew them.

My brother, sister, and I slept over our grandparents’ house pretty regularly. I can remember my younger sister getting homesick one night and my grandmother rocking her and softly talking about all the fun things we were going to do the next day. She said we were going to pick pink beans and I was fascinated. I had never seen pink beans. We picked beans from their garden the next day and they were pink. So satisfying.

My grandfather loved to use his grandchildren to play tricks on Grandma. She happily walked under every cup of water balanced on top of a door and generously ignored every grandchild hiding in plain sight.

There was a drawer in her kitchen right by the back door. It was always full of gum. We made a beeline for it every time we visited.

Grandma subscribed to Good Housekeeping. Every issue had a short story in the back. It was the most romantic drivel imaginable. My mom thought I was too young to be reading romance but I snuck the magazines every time I was there. I am pretty sure Grandma knew.

Grandma always bought the sugary breakfast cereals for when we slept over. Golden Grahams still take me straight back to sitting at her kitchen table with my brother and sister. Maybe after breakfast I would go up in the attic to find a book or we would play records in their basement. Maybe after lunch we would go for a swim in their pool.

I remember going on a picnic with my grandparents. There was a shallow river right by where we picnicked. We started out wading in the water but really wanted to swim. We didn’t have bathing suits with us. Grandma just shrugged and told us to swim in our shorts and t-shirts. It felt so rebellious and thrilling to little rule-following me.

Grandma wasn’t perfect. No one is. She was stubborn and opinionated and more than a bit nosy. She wasn’t always tactful. I sometimes rolled my eyes when, for the five-hundredth time, she told the story of how my husband and I met.

But she was my grandmother and I loved her dearly.

I have written about Grandma a few other times. Please, go read those posts too.

Here is the first post I wrote about her.

This is a post about her attic.

And this is a post about the poetry she started writing in her old age.