The new matriach
2nd night in a row, and I can't sleep. This is how this blogging thing started for me, so while I'm waiting for my sleep aid to kick in, I'll work further on the last 6 weeks.
I have become the eldest female in my family. The only female.
My grandmother died July 1, 2006.
She was in hospice, she had cancer. We knew this was coming, but not this quickly. It was a blessing really. She was home, in her own environment. She was alone, which is not the most comforting thought for me, but she was able to be alone, which is comforting. She went out like Elvis, on the throne. This would mortify her. If she knew that everyone knew that she died while sitting on the crapper... oh lord.
My realtionship with my grandmother was interesting on a good day, horrible on a bad day, and lately there were more bad days then good. She was mentally unstable and oddly again, that gives me comfort.
On the good days she would send me emails telling me she was proud of me; proud of my becoming a nurse. She would shower me with expensive gifts befitting a queen and words of praise that meant more to me than the gifts. On the bad days she would call me lair, and demand that my mother's love for her was greater than my mother's love for me. Simple words can hurt so much.
I went to Florida to help my uncle and brother get her affairs in order. We are all that's left of her family now. We found documents and pictures that made us smile. We found shopping lists from 1968, ration books from the war, newspaper articles from the 80's on the evils of the entire Bush clan. If you had a greesy cat, she had an article cut out for you on what to feed it to keep if from being so greesy (really) and she had 93 boxes of jello.
We packed up all the food items that were unopened and took them to a local food pantry. They were so excited and happy to have the donations. People don't give as much in the warm months in Florida, as so many of the snow birds are in their northern habitats.
We found birth and death records going back to my great great grandparents, immigration papers, baptismal records, divorce decrees (which shocked us all). Found a newspaper clipping from my mother's engagement to someone other than my father. That sparked an interesting dinner conversation with my uncle, and showed me my mom's first real broken heart.
Pictures, pictures, pictures of trips to England, Belgium, Canada, Mexico, cruises, and just shenanigans around the trailer park where they lived. Pictures of people I can not name, and will never be able to name as that information went to the grave with her.
I got to see my 1,000 cranes again. She had them proudly displayed in her dining room. The sample papers were in the bedroom and she had asked the hospice nurse to help her fold one. The folks at hospice told me how much she loved me, and how fondly she talked of me. That was odd. Who was this woman they had met and cared for? She hadn't said a kind thing about me to anyone else for over a year.
Her death could have been a long protracted time of illness, but instead, she went on the can. Quick and common, one grunt and it's over.
My feelings were (and are) all over the map. My grandmother passed on. I feel sorrow, but she has been dead to me for years really. Anytime I would open myself to her, she would treat me kindly for a few months, then slam me down again, and hurt me all over. No one could ever tell me why, and like those nameless photos, I'll never know, she took that infomation to the grave.
And from the grave, she slammed the door in my face one final time. The will she and my grandfather drafted in October 2001, after my mom's passing, but before my grandfather's passing read... "We selectively and intentionally make no provision for the lineal descendents of our deceased daughter..." Ouch again. Not only did she write my brother and I out of the will (the only grandchildren) she wrote our children off as well. A slap from the beyond.
It's not the money. All I ever wanted from this woman was love. I loved her. I told her this every time we communicated. She never returned it.
Reverend Anderson said some beautiful things at her funeral, things I am trying to do. He told us to remember the good times, and not the hurtful things we mortals say to each other. Let those words go, and keep the memories alive that bring joy to our heart. So, here is my attempt.
I remember rootbeer floats served in flower pots.
I remember her letting me plant corn in my grandfather's flower bed.
I remember toys under the kitchen sink. No chemicals here, just toys for her grandkids.
I remember being covered up with a "kiki" when we'd snooze on the "davenport."
I remember an inexhaustive supply of spearmint leaves.
I remember making Christmas cookies with her and my mom.
I remember politically incorrect jokes told in all innocence to a Czechoslovakian waiter.
I remember her playing The Entertainer on the organ.
I remember sleeping in "The Blue Room" and feeling like a princess.
Most of all I remember her laugh. So child like and free. A giggle really. I'll miss that.
Dorothy, your pain is over, you are free of this earthly shell.
Perhaps too, my pain can begin to heal.
I have become the eldest female in my family. The only female.
My grandmother died July 1, 2006.
She was in hospice, she had cancer. We knew this was coming, but not this quickly. It was a blessing really. She was home, in her own environment. She was alone, which is not the most comforting thought for me, but she was able to be alone, which is comforting. She went out like Elvis, on the throne. This would mortify her. If she knew that everyone knew that she died while sitting on the crapper... oh lord.
My realtionship with my grandmother was interesting on a good day, horrible on a bad day, and lately there were more bad days then good. She was mentally unstable and oddly again, that gives me comfort.
On the good days she would send me emails telling me she was proud of me; proud of my becoming a nurse. She would shower me with expensive gifts befitting a queen and words of praise that meant more to me than the gifts. On the bad days she would call me lair, and demand that my mother's love for her was greater than my mother's love for me. Simple words can hurt so much.
I went to Florida to help my uncle and brother get her affairs in order. We are all that's left of her family now. We found documents and pictures that made us smile. We found shopping lists from 1968, ration books from the war, newspaper articles from the 80's on the evils of the entire Bush clan. If you had a greesy cat, she had an article cut out for you on what to feed it to keep if from being so greesy (really) and she had 93 boxes of jello.
We packed up all the food items that were unopened and took them to a local food pantry. They were so excited and happy to have the donations. People don't give as much in the warm months in Florida, as so many of the snow birds are in their northern habitats.
We found birth and death records going back to my great great grandparents, immigration papers, baptismal records, divorce decrees (which shocked us all). Found a newspaper clipping from my mother's engagement to someone other than my father. That sparked an interesting dinner conversation with my uncle, and showed me my mom's first real broken heart.
Pictures, pictures, pictures of trips to England, Belgium, Canada, Mexico, cruises, and just shenanigans around the trailer park where they lived. Pictures of people I can not name, and will never be able to name as that information went to the grave with her.
I got to see my 1,000 cranes again. She had them proudly displayed in her dining room. The sample papers were in the bedroom and she had asked the hospice nurse to help her fold one. The folks at hospice told me how much she loved me, and how fondly she talked of me. That was odd. Who was this woman they had met and cared for? She hadn't said a kind thing about me to anyone else for over a year.
Her death could have been a long protracted time of illness, but instead, she went on the can. Quick and common, one grunt and it's over.
My feelings were (and are) all over the map. My grandmother passed on. I feel sorrow, but she has been dead to me for years really. Anytime I would open myself to her, she would treat me kindly for a few months, then slam me down again, and hurt me all over. No one could ever tell me why, and like those nameless photos, I'll never know, she took that infomation to the grave.
And from the grave, she slammed the door in my face one final time. The will she and my grandfather drafted in October 2001, after my mom's passing, but before my grandfather's passing read... "We selectively and intentionally make no provision for the lineal descendents of our deceased daughter..." Ouch again. Not only did she write my brother and I out of the will (the only grandchildren) she wrote our children off as well. A slap from the beyond.
It's not the money. All I ever wanted from this woman was love. I loved her. I told her this every time we communicated. She never returned it.
Reverend Anderson said some beautiful things at her funeral, things I am trying to do. He told us to remember the good times, and not the hurtful things we mortals say to each other. Let those words go, and keep the memories alive that bring joy to our heart. So, here is my attempt.
I remember rootbeer floats served in flower pots.
I remember her letting me plant corn in my grandfather's flower bed.
I remember toys under the kitchen sink. No chemicals here, just toys for her grandkids.
I remember being covered up with a "kiki" when we'd snooze on the "davenport."
I remember an inexhaustive supply of spearmint leaves.
I remember making Christmas cookies with her and my mom.
I remember politically incorrect jokes told in all innocence to a Czechoslovakian waiter.
I remember her playing The Entertainer on the organ.
I remember sleeping in "The Blue Room" and feeling like a princess.
Most of all I remember her laugh. So child like and free. A giggle really. I'll miss that.
Dorothy, your pain is over, you are free of this earthly shell.
Perhaps too, my pain can begin to heal.
posted by Angela | 02:12
1 Comments:
I don't think I knew her name was Dorothy until now. I like how you waited until very late in the post to mention that. Maybe it wasn't intentional, but it was a nice touch.
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