My Grandmother

Sparked by a conversation with JJ, I've decided to write a little bit about my paternal grandmother. I believe I wrote to her for my letters project posts, but I thought that, since she's been on my mind, I'd take some time to blog about her.

Everyone generally considered my grandmother to be the person who single-handedly held our family together. I suppose this is true, when one examines the rifts in our relationships since her death. She was kind and generous, especially when it came to her grandchildren. She, like her sisters and husband, was a devout Catholic, and she took her Catholicism very seriously. I'm sure she was displeased that we were not being raised in the Catholic church, but, if she was, she never said anything that made us feel uncomfortable about it. She always made sure that we were cared for and had everything that we needed, from clothes to school supplies to snacks and toys.

I'm certain that she had her faults, like most people do, but I don't really remember them. I recall her fighting with my mother about various things over the years, but they never pulled us into their tiffs. I recall her vanity--she dyed her hair (roots, more or less, were the crux of the issue) black each week or two well past the age when flawless black would have been natural for her. She always had a signature hairstyle, and she wore signature scents as well--Imari by Avon for casual, Cinnabar by Estee Lauder for her special occasion scent. She always maintained her image by being polite to everyone, doing what was best and most socially acceptable. She was, as has gone by the wayside over the years, a true lady.

My grandmother was a lovely woman. She had a plethora of friends. She volunteered at her local nursing home. She loved her children and her husband. My grandmother gave me the lovely gift of many, many wonderful childhood memories. I may not have gotten much of her after she passed away, but I knew her and knowing her was a gift of its own.

One of the memories striking me with great force tonight is of when she was in the hospital, shortly before she died. My grandmother had been hospitalized for some time with Guillain-Barre Syndrome, and she died as a result of an embolism which migrated to her heart, which is a common complication of Guillain-Barre. Guillain-Barre has an element of paralysis to it, and since people who are paralyzed cannot use their extremities all that well, they are more likely to develop clots. Despite the blood thinners and exercises they were doing with her, she did develop a clot. The only positive thing that I can say about this is that we had seen her the day that she died, earlier that afternoon, and we had been able to tell her that we loved her. It was a minor blessing in the midst of a family tragedy.

Just before her death, I had gotten my first sort of punk notions about myself, and I had decided that it was totally imperative for me to have burgundy hair. My mother, after consulting a beautician friend of hers, reluctantly agreed, much to my father's later surprise. My father had declared that he liked it, but that he was sure that my grandmother, who was not so much a fan of odd colors of hair dye, would probably hate it. He assured me that I ought to prepare myself for a discussion of disapproval at the very least.

When we went to go see her, probably a day or so after my change of hair, I was nervous. When we walked in, she noticed my hair immediately. Much to the surprise of myself and my father, she declared that she loved my new hair style, and nothing negative was ever said about it. I remember the look on her face as she told me that she liked it, the light in her eyes. I think back to that day quite often, thinking of how her opinion on the matter could have made or broken the whole situation. Had she absolutely hated it, I'm sure I'd have been crushed.

As I am often wont to do, I think of her very much. I wonder what she would think of me as an adult, what she'd have thought of me at the worst of my teenage rebellion. Would my tattoos and piercings be met with chidings and scorn or would they have been as easily accepted as my burgundy hair was that afternoon in her hospital room? Would she approve of my major? Would I have waited so long to go back to school if she'd been around to advise me, guide me? Most of all, would she be proud of the woman that I've become or would she find me sassy and uncouth? Would she appreciate my honesty and candor or would she consider me impolite and assuming?

As I age, I try to honor my grandmother's memory in small ways, the ways that I can manage. Though I will never be as patient or as kind as she was, I do try to at least emulate some of her behaviors. She used to make Kifli, a Germanic/Polish/Hungarian pastry, every year for Christmas, even giving some as gifts to people (such as priests at her church and whatnot). I have attempted to take over her role as the family Kifli-maker. This year is the first year since I've mastered the art that we simply haven't had the money to buy the ingredients to make them--these are not a cheap pastry, I have discovered. Even dying my hair black now is done with a nod of deference to her, though I do occasionally add streaks of colors that she might have liked much less. It makes me think of her and how she always wanted to be perfectly coiffed.

My grandmother played a huge role in shaping who I have become. She continues to shape me to this day. Even though it gets harder to remember her, harder to remember the small details, there will always be important memories that stick out to me. She will always be the woman who taught me how to make Kifli in her kitchen during the chill of December, the woman who let me play in her jewelry boxes when I was just a little girl, the woman who made her basement and patio two of my most favored locations as a child. She will always be the woman who went out of her way at all times to make sure that my brothers and I felt absolutely, totally, and completely loved. There is not a single thing in this whole world, not even death, that could ever take that away from us.