Goodbye, Grandma

On January 3rd, 2006, my beloved grandmother passed away. It was quicker than we expected, but it was very peaceful and dignified, just as she deserved. I haven't been able to absorb it all quite yet, and I'm feeling somewhat numb. I did, however, manage to write something that I read at her funeral. Here it is.

When I was a little girl, there was no I looked forward to seeing more than my grandma. Even though she only lived five minutes away, I cried whenever she tried to leave. She would either have to sneak away when I wasn’t looking, or else take me home with her for the night, which she did many times. “Don’t go, grandma!” I would call out, standing at the doorway, watching her walk away. And she would always turn around and come back and hug me and say, “Oh honey, don’t cry, grandma has to go home now. I’ll see you again.”

But who could blame me for crying? If you asked any of her grandchildren I’m sure they’d agree that there was no one like grandma, and no better place than grandma and grandpa’s house. Where else would you have a captive audience who thought your every word and action was perfect? Who else was always happy to see you and never got mad, even when you spilled your milk or tracked dirt on the clean floor? She had a front closet full of bottled pop, three kinds of ice cream in the freezer at all times, and, as she would always say, “oodles” of chips and candy. Staying overnight was the best. She would roll out the blue sleeping bags in the front room and she always left her bedroom door open all night, just in case you got scared. We stayed up late together and watched re-runs of the Jeffersons and usually had one of her favorite snacks, popcorn or a bowl of cereal, before bed. Then, when you could barely keep your eyes open, she’d tuck you in for the night, her upswept hairdo wrapped up in a paper turban, the scent of Oil of Olay on her skin.

Through the years she came to countless sporting events, plays, concerts, and anything else her grandchildren were involved in. It was a guarantee that, in her eyes, you would always be the best one out there. And even though you knew you really weren’t, it made you feel good just to know that someone thought you were that special.

She also had a way of making birthdays and holidays seem like the most important days in the year. As children, she always made sure she brought a small present for all the kids in the family, not just the birthday boy or girl… who else would think to do something so small yet so thoughtful? And although there were cards and treats on other holidays, she was definitely the queen of Christmas. From her year round shopping to the two weeks it took to decorate the house and wrap presents, she wowed us every year. And it wasn’t just the gifts… it was how you always knew there’d be Christmas lights on the front lamppost and the big red Santa boots on the front step. It was the long table set up downstairs, decorated with Santa placemats and candy cane salt and pepper shakers. It was the men and kids doing dishes after dinner, the anticipation of waiting to open your first present because you just knew she got you exactly what you wanted. It was the traditions that she and grandpa built, the love of family that they instilled in each of us, time and again.

As I grew older, her presence in my life never dimmed. She sent me letters when I went away to college and always insisted that I call her collect when I wanted to talk. She helped me pack up and move more than once, and somehow, she always found a way to pick up the check when we went out to eat. “Don’t you be spending your money on me, honey,” she’d say. “I have everything I need.” Up until recently, she could shop anyone under the table, and she knew every bargain spot in town. She was generous to a fault, she was stubborn at times, and she had a great sense of humor. She could take a joke and she could give you a hard time right back.

It was always great to have her with us at parties and gatherings. I tried to describe her to my friends and other people before they met her. “She’s not your typical grandma,” I’d tell them. “She’s better. She’s fun, and hip, and she fits right in with any crowd.” After they met her, they understood. “Your grandma is so cool,” they’d say. “She’s awesome!” They didn’t have to convince me. I knew she was more than just a grandmother; she was also a great friend.

I was blessed to spend a few hours with her on the day she passed away. Every time a new visitor showed up (and there were many), she would smile that beautiful smile that lit up her face and could make you think you just made her day. As uncomfortable as she was, she still found the strength to put up a good front and make the rest of us feel good. She laughed and joked around, and talked about going home in a few days to see her canine “friends.”

And so we are here today to say goodbye to a woman who has made my life, and the lives of all who’ve known her, much better and richer by the gifts she gave us during her lifetime… the love, the laughter, the support, the strength, and so many wonderful memories.

Just like when I was little, I want so badly to say, “Don’t go grandma! Please, don’t go.”
But we should listen to her words, just as she would always tell me: “Don’t cry. I’ll see you again.”

So we must say, “Goodbye, grandma. We’ll miss you so very much. We love you more than you’ll ever know. And we will see you again.”