Passages

My grandmother passed away yesterday. She was 96. Well, truthfully, she'd have been 97 on December 1st, so she was actually closer to 97 than 96. She was, for lack of a better, more accurate word, amazing. She was the original tiny force of nature (something we call E frequently).

I'm struggling with this post, a bit, because I'm not even entirely sure how to articulate everything I want to say. But I know I need to try. So, here goes...

First of all, my grandmother was my namesake. She was, like me, the middle of five children. And as much as we were different, there were ways in which she always made me feel like she got me, in a really special way. She got married at 28, which, back in the 40's, was considered pretty late. And that was one of the really significant things she passed on to me - that belief that there should never be a rush to get married - that it should be all about finding that right person. And since I've covered her love story with my grandfather repeatedly in this space, we all know she did just that. And the moment she met E, she was absolutely, 100% convinced that he was that right person for me. And as usual, she was right.

My grandmother was kinda fabulous. She believed in looking good - dressing well, being well-groomed (the last time we visited her, E told her her hair looked nice and she positively GLOWED as a result), and in living life to the fullest. She played golf into her nineties and drank martinis at cocktail hour (5 PM sharp) even deeper into her nineties. She led a life brimming with love. She invited it, cultivated it, cherished it.

On that last visit that E and I had with her, she was fairly out of it, for the most part. Interestingly, as we were getting ready to leave, she perked up. It was as if she came back, in a way. And she said almost exactly the same things to me that my grandfather said to me the last time I saw him. To the end, they were true twin souls (and still are). And just like with him, I had this inkling inside that it would be the last time I'd see her.

I know I've written before about the visit I took to see my grandmother after my grandfather passed away, and about sitting in his chair, and the flickering lamp. Tonight, as I was sitting in my own living room, the lamp next to my sofa flickered the same way. It's not really a lamp that flickers regularly, so it caught my attention. I could just picture the conversation:

Mam: "Oh, Dad. Don't fool around. You know how sensitive Linny can be."
Bucky: "No, don't worry. She loves this trick! Watch. [Flicker.] HA! See? She loves it!"
Mam: "[Shaking her head,] I wish you wouldn't do that. She's so overly sensitive. You're just going to make her cry again. Heavens to Betsy, that Linny can cry."
Bucky: "Oh, Betty, relax. She's not a child. Drink your drink before it gets warm."

I've had this very intense mix of emotions inside these last two days. I'm so relieved for her that she's no longer sick or suffering. She loathed being sick. And she even more intensely loathed the loss of her eyesight. But that doesn't erase the ache inside that results when you have to say goodbye to someone you love so dearly. And then I'm also so glad for her that she is finally, after almost exactly 13 years, with my grandfather once again. She missed him terribly every day of these years, and I know the reunion they're sharing is full of joy. And then there's the pain that comes with knowing they're both gone now, and that part of our family life that they represented is more memory than reality now. I think we can acknowledge that death is a natural part of life and appreciate its inherent difficulty. I don't think those concepts are mutually exclusive.

Among the hardest things was having to tell B what had happened. I'm of the opinion that you shouldn't lie to children about these things. So, we didn't. We told him what was going on. And in his highly emotional way, he processed it. He cried, and he wailed that he didn't want Mam to go to heaven. He said he was going to miss our visits with her, and he told us he was mad at us for visiting that last time without him (she was in hospice care toward the end, so children were not allowed). But he expressed all of that, and he expressed how much he loves her, and all in all, I think it went about as well as it could.

Anyway, I feel like this post is VERY all over the place, so who knows - maybe I'll come back and tweak it at some point. Or maybe I'll just leave it as kind of a raw, brain dump. We'll see. Suffice it to say that a big part of who I am left us yesterday and I'm sad. And happy. And very, very thankful.

Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours. Give your peeps big hugs, y'all.