My grandmother just passed away last weekend and there are a few things I learned from this experience.
I lost a grandparent or two already, so I am already familiar with the process. However, it is important we don’t shrink down our grandparent’s existence to merely “grandparent,” because one of the things I realized is that the experiencing of losing my mother’s mom was much different than losing my father’s dad.
For one, I saw my grandfather way more than I saw my grandmother due to the fact that my grandpa lived thirty minutes away, whereas my grandma lived a three-hour plane ride away. Although I was a long way away from my Meemaw, we kept in touch. I still remember before her ancient computer croaked, we’d send emails regularly and talk about boys and delicious new recipes for pecan pie. We’d talk over the phone during holidays and birthdays as well.
Every year for my birthday (Meemaw lived in Florida and we went down every summer to visit), Meemaw would make me carrot cake and lasagna. She was a talented cook and everyone knew it. There would be moments when everyone would be talking and having a good time and Meemaw would be in the kitchen or standing beside Peepaw and she’d have this beautiful glint in her eyes.
She’d ask me to play the piano for her for the sixth or seventh year in a row and I’d play the same songs I always did and it still meant the world to her. She would sit in her chair right next to the piano bench and hum along to the songs I could barely remember how to play. The glint would be in her eye then, too.
She had her Meemaw-isms too. Some were timeless: “Shop ‘til you drop!” (as she handed me a ten dollar bill) and my personal favorite, “A day without chocolate is like a year without sunshine." She knew what she loved in this world and family, chocolate, music, church and cooking were at the top of the list.
Her last words to me, which were her last words intentionally spoken to another person, were “I love you too." She could barely speak them and I didn’t actually hear it well, but I knew it’s what she intended to say. Even though she was dying and in unimaginable pain, every time she looked at me I could see that glint, mysterious and stubborn, in her cloudy eyes. It’s the glint that I will never forget.
My point throughout this article about my grandmother is that if your grandparents are anything like mine were, I can promise you that picking up your phone and calling them will mean the world to them. Call them, tell them how you’re doing in school, who your friends are, what sports you’re doing and how your pets are. Ask them about their day, how their other family members are doing and if they’ve done anything exciting lately. Ask them about their friends and what they think about the presidential race (they’ll have an opinion, I’m sure of it.) Tell them how much you love them and that you’ll try to visit them. To them, you are an extension of who they are. I don’t know what it is like to be a grandparent, but if I had to guess, I’d say that family is everything (and not just blood relatives, but people who have grown to be family through the years.) If I were facing death, I think having my family around would be the best way to go. Visit your grandparents and look for their glint. I can promise, if you look at the right moment, you’ll find it, and it will never dim.
