Saturday, January 14, 2012

For my Mom Mom

She used to feed me graham crackers with strawberry jam on them and keep tins of sweets hidden under her bed for when I would stay over. She would call me precious cargo and speed through the city with me belted into her passenger seat while she yelled at other motorists. She taught me a lot about being a lady and even more about being tough. The first time I ate pumpkin pie, it was because she told me to stop being stupid and just try something new for once. She was 16 when she had her first kid and never lied to me about that, choosing instead to tell me to be careful not to end up with one of my own. When I was 16, she helped me dye my hair blue in my mother's wash basin because, as she put it: "If you're gonna make yourself look like an ass, you're gonna do it right." My mother still has not forgiven her for this, but I never forgot how to use a tint brush after that. She was the kind of woman who would lug two oxygen tanks and half a dozen pill bottles through the inner city just to make sure that two squirming 12 year olds got to see the latest Nightmare on Elm Street in the theaters, on the day it opened. She chose her battles wisely and knew when to give in, but she could stop you dead in your tracks with one dirty look. Even at the very end of her life, she still went out of her way to make me feel special with 32 different kinds of cheese sandwiches and cakes on my 17th birthday. She was always my rock and my idol and my safest place and I will always miss her.


I originally posted the paragraph above over a year ago. Today is the anniversary of my grandmother's death, and the first time I have ventured near her house since then. Tonight, I ate dinner with many members of my family and I realized that there is so much of her in so many of us, right down to the late night snacking and the very pointy teeth. I like to think that she was there with us, cracking jokes and busting balls. I also like to think that, where ever she is now, she's at least a little proud to see us all flourishing. I miss her every single day, but more so today than others.