From the time I was a little girl, I can remember
after every large
holiday meal with my grandparents, my grandma would say,
“God
bless America!” as she would push back from the table
with a full stomach,
thankful for another holiday spent with
family and good food. She would then always make some sort
of
comment about hoping she’d be around for the next year’s
Christmas, or the next
year’s Thanksgiving. And it always
bothered me when she said it, to think about her not being
there. But year after year after year she made
these comments
and year after year after year, there she would be at that next
holiday. So I grew up almost
believing that the sand in her
hourglass would never run out.
When I lost my other grandma, I was pregnant with my
first
child. In fact I went into
labor the day after she died, so in
some ways, for me, the pain of her death
was eased by the
new life in our family.
It was the cycle of life right before
my eyes.
I try to draw on the idea of the cycle of life as I
attempt to deal
with this loss. I
am comforted in the fact that the cycle
continues as my children Luke and Zoe,
grow. I am thankful
that they had the chance to know their great
grandmother.
I can see how she
will live on through them.
Although my
children’s memories of their great grandma may fade with
time, I will always see my grandma in Zoe as she threads
bracelet after
bracelet onto her arm. My grandma
always
wore the best baby toys around her wrist wherever she went.
And I will always see my grandma in my
son as he sits down
to draw or paint or in some other way be creative, just
like she was.
While my kids are certainly lucky to have known
their
great grandmother, my sisters and I are among few lucky
enough to grow
into adulthood knowing their grandma.
During my almost 37 years, you can imagine the multitude
of memories I
have. A favorite of mine is of
being a very
little girl, sitting on top of the corner of the countertop in
my
grandma’s kitchen and watching her cook.
I can’t
help but wonder if by watching her in her kitchen those
many
years ago that my love of cooking was born.
Other favorite childhood memories are of the many
times my
grandparents took my older sister and me to play miniature
golf and
then out for a sandwich, which to them meant a
hamburger… Sleeping over at grandma’s house and
having grandpa’s yummy pancakes for breakfast and
the special dessert my
grandma would make of layered ice
cream and jello in an ice cream cone…. Playing
in the sprinklers in the
backyard…. Taking BART to the
coliseum to watch the A’s. If it was a Safeway Saturday
Barbeque
game, my sister and I were really in for a treat.
We got a hot dog, some cracker-jack and the best part
was the
smashed, slightly warm Twinkie. We
went to
countless A’s games with my grandma and grandpa. And
they came to countless performances
of mine, be it softball
games, school plays, or dance recitals. My grandma loved
to watch me on stage.
Not only do I have memories of my grandma from my
past, but I also have daily reminders of her in the present.
I can’t go into any closet in my house
without thinking
of my grandma as I take a piece of clothing off of one of
the
hundreds of crocheted hangers she made.
I am
reminded of my grandma when one of my kids says
they don’t like
something I cooked and I instinctively
say, “mais fica”. This is a Portuguese phrase my grandma
said which loosely means “more for me”.
My grandma
taught me a couple other choice Portuguese words but I
don’t
think they would be appropriate to share here.
And whenever I sit down to play a game of scrabble or
now
the phone version of the game, I think of my
grandma, especially when I try to
play a made-up word.
As sad as I am at this time, I can only imagine the
sadness
my mom feels to lose her mother, or the sadness my
grandpa feels to
lose his life-long partner. It is okay for us
to be sad. We’ve lost our loved one and we will
miss her.
But I know that my
grandma helped shape who I am
which in turn is helping shape who my children
become,
and who their children will become in the future. And
in this way, I was right those many
years ago as a
little girl. The
sand in my grandma’s hourglass will
never run out.
