Dealing

The holidays are supposed to be joyful.  This year was a little harder.  My grandmother passed away just before Christmas.  I've been on a roller coaster of emotions.

I've had three other grandparents already pass away.  The first time I was eight years old.  I didn't realize it at the time, but she was only 60 years old.  I remember fleeting images and the situation being hard on the family.  I was sad, but I didn't really feel its impact on me until I got older.

The second time was sudden when I was fifteen.  My grandfather was in his early 70s.  It was a shock and more difficult to deal with.  I was old enough to appreciate the gravity of the situation.  I remember missing school and I remember telling my mom in a restaurant after the funeral that I didn't feel like I could go back to school.  I did go back.  Life goes on.

The third time I was twenty and in college.  My other grandfather had been ill for a while.  We knew it was coming.  We visited him in the hospital and I remember how awful I felt seeing him not as his strong tall self.  I was sad, but he was 80 and I remember being comforted that I felt that was a pretty long life, especially for a man.

Why is it that this time, my life feels really blue, even though my grandmother was 91?  That is, by all logic, an excellent length of life.  I should be comforted by that.

I'm sure the time of year makes the feelings more magnified.  Everyone else around you is joyous and spending good times with family and friends.  We did get to see family, but it was such a sad occasion.

I wonder, too, if it is the realization that the older generation is gone.  The oldest generation in my life now is that of my parents' generation.  Maybe deep down I realize I am not a grandchild anymore.  Maybe I'm mourning my childhood.  I shouldn't be, it is still there in my memories.  Some of it is in my parents', aunts', uncles' and cousins' memories.  But a little bit of that long ago time is gone.

Grandma kept us all together as a family.  The last 10 years we've had yearly treks to Grandma's on Memorial Day weekends.  Not every cousin made it, but the aunts and uncles usually did.  My cousins brought their kids and our kids know their second cousins like they were first cousins.  Grandma, though, is who we centered around.  Maybe I'm worried it won't continue.

I guess if I want it to, I should help organize us together.  But, will I let my life and work and excuses get in the way?  I don't know, only time will tell.  My cousins on the other side of the family haven't seen each other much.  I always put it down to us being more worldly and farther flung than perhaps the other side, making it harder to gather.  But I think there's something to be said about the oldest generation providing a place where we can all gather on a home turf.

Life goes on.  My son was pretty perceptive.  Some of his concerns after the funeral was about him understanding that we might not see his second cousins on a yearly basis and he told me as much.  They all had a nice time swimming at the hotel together.  They were really sweet playing together at the luncheon after.  I hope they enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed watching them have their little adventures, like us cousins used to do on the farm.

In the meantime, I won't berate myself for continuing to feel a bit blue in this cold, wintry season.

Tuesday night memory

In honor of Breast Cancer Awareness Month and my maternal grandmother, who passed away from breast cancer when I was 8 and she was 60 or almost 60.

My mother's mother always seemed to me to be a very quiet person. I don't remember her voice, I remember her presence. Grandpa always sat in his chair in his living room, well positioned to see the TV and the door where people would come in. I remember Grandma seemed to spend her time in the kitchen. The kitchen had a fun wallpaper on the walls with cooking utensils as part of the motif.

She had one of those enameled wood and metal tables that had leaves that pulled out to make it bigger and two chairs with bent chrome legs. She also had a stove from the late 40s or early 50s. I think the tile was a speckled tile and maybe the cabinets were pink, but I cannot remember that clearly now at all.

What I remember most is waking up in the morning and going downstairs to breakfast in that kitchen. For some reason, I always remember going to breakfast, but not necessarily what I ate. I think there was eggs and cereal and toast, and juice in small glasses.

I remember Grandma making breakfast or lunch for us, but not what we ate. But I just remember her quietness and letting us be the kids we were. We would do a lot of dress up in my mother's and aunts' old clothes upstairs, hide in the lilac bush outside because it conveniently had an open space in the middle, once you navigated the spindly branches that surrounded the space enclosed in green. I think the grown ups knew we were in there, but chose not to pay attention to the fact that we were. I remember the heady smell of what I think were large spirea plants that flanked the porch step.

I remember Grandma doing laundry and hanging up the clothes on the clothesline and running between the clothes as she hung them. It seemed she went about her daily business, but made sure we were fed and bathed when we needed to be. I don't ever remember a cross word from her, I think Grandpa handled that if we got into stuff we weren't supposed to.

I think Grandma was also quiet about her cancer, though the perception of an eight-year old is probably not the most reliable sort of information. I don't know that she let on to us grandkids much about it. And maybe that was the best way, so I could remember how she was quietly there, but taking care of us when we needed it.