It’s my grandmother’s birthday today. She passed away four years back, but I always remember.
I keep her rosary from her first communion hanging on my wall. I inherited her car, which unfortunately got totaled in a recent hail storm. She’d want me to take the settlement, for sure, but a part of me feels like I’m saying goodbye to another part of her. Loss continues after a person is gone, I guess.
Of all the people I’ve been close to in my life, she was one of the closest.
She was a real badass, a twice-divorced woman who raised two girls on her own while holding down a job as a secretary at the Washington Post.
I remember her in this way:
Great sense of humor, but extremely blunt. If she didn’t want to do something, she’d tell you.
We spent every summer together. We would play mini golf, go to the movies, and hang out at her house.
She could talk for hours, but she wouldn’t do much of the talking. She listened very carefully.
She was extremely good with money.
Before she passed away, she told my sister that she’d have a daughter, which she did almost exactly one year later.
After she passed away, I saw her in my dreams frequently, and we chatted away.
I should have called her more when she was alive. I call people on the phone all the time, now, but in my 20s I couldn’t have been bothered.
She wouldn’t have any time for this sentimental stuff. She’d want me to get on with what I’m doing, and she’d want to see me do well.
So I will.
Happy birthday, Gramma. I miss you!
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