Be glad this post is not about my oven.

by statia on September 4, 2009

I swear to you people, I’ve had really funny post ideas.  Ones that were not about my kids, and one that yes, sadly, was about my new oven.  It was funny in my head, but probably was not as funny as I thought it would be, because I have since forgotten about it.

But did I tell you, that we got a new oven?  It’s hot.  *ba dum bum*.

I do have kid updates, but because the last 300 posts are about my kid(s), I figured I’d spare you for a moment.

Anyway.

It has been a little over a month since I found out my grandmother died.  The whole situation has been weird for me, and I still can’t get over the fact that she’s gone.  Not in the mourning type of way, although, maybe it is my way of mourning her death, but I’m not typically sad, just kind of weirded out that a family member of mine that I actually knew and had a relationship with is no longer walking on this earth, or here in a physical way.   There was no service or flowers for her, as per her wishes.  Her wishes were for her ashes to be buried under a shady tree.  “Like a dog?” I said, to my uncle?  Who does that?  Really.

The process of cleaning out her apartment and gathering her affairs has been quite a fiasco.  It took over a month for my mother to get into the apartment, because they couldn’t find a will, and because of that, there was a long road of paperwork that needed to be accomplished before the police would relinquish the keys.  My mother finally got in last week and found 40 years worth of bank statements, receipts, you name it.  Her filing system?  Old purses (or “pockabooks”, if that’s what you call them).  40 years of records kept in handbags.

My grandmother saved everything.  Christmas cards from the grandkids, pictures, old notes.  My mother found a note from me that said something along the lines of:

“I love you so much Grandma.  I love you from New York, to San Diego, to Japan, to Montana, to Hawaii, to Mexico, to Boston, to Australia and back to Manhattan again.”  It was something I used to say to her all the time as a small child.

It was in that brief moment that I missed her.   I missed her as I knew her in my youth.  The things she taught me.  I don’t miss the grandmother I knew that told my mother that I was the bad child.  The child she ultimately didn’t like so much.

The other night I had a dream that I saw her.  I wanted her to meet her only great grandchildren.  I knew she was going to die.  It was as if I was given a back in time pass to see her one last time.  Knowing that she was going to die, she looked horrible.  She was bloated, and had a greenish tinge to her (ZOMBIES!) and she was sweaty and out of breath.  She didn’t want to hold Little Girl, and she kind of brushed off the fact that she had two great grandchildren.   I don’t know what that means, really.  I have such bizarre dreams, that I’ve long sinced stopped trying to analyze them.   Maybe that was my final chance to say goodbye.   Maybe I wished that she was a nicer woman.

Next up?  A post about my kids.

{ 3 comments }

steff September 5, 2009 at 9:19 am

You certainly touched my heart with this post and I’m not very soft hearted. I prefer the memories of my Gram from my childhood as opposed to now in her final, not so mobile or energetic years. Sadly, those childhood memories are starting to get fuzzy.

Donna September 5, 2009 at 10:24 pm

Death and family are always weird. I think we generally forgive a lot of bad behaviour when someone dies, otherwise we wouldn’t be able to reconcile our feelings. Maybe this is a lesson to be a nicer person? Not you specifically, all of us. Obviously I’m feeling a little existential today. Sorry about that.

Faith September 9, 2009 at 12:43 pm

I agree with Donna. I’ve lost all my grandparents at this point in life, and while I have good memories of them, for the most part, I can’t imagine what it must have been like to be them watching us…and what it must be like to gradually get older and older and less comfortable and happy in yourself.

As sad as I am to lose my parents at such young ages (53 and 69), there’s something comforting about not having to worry about them being old, or unhappy in their elder years, and trying to find a place for them to be as comfortable and happy as possible. It’s the ONLY comfort I can find in losing them so young, really.

Looking forward to hearing about your kids! (No, really.)

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