.jpg?ssl=1)
- I’m truly at a loss for words at what to say this week.
(And if you know me, you know I can typically spin a lot of words out no matter what, so this is an odd place for me to be.)
I find myself caught between this strange feeling of instinctively wanting to put a positive spin on the week. I want to paint it golden, to “portray the brighter” side, the “glass half-full” side. But then there’s the other side of the story: that this week has been hard (to put it lightly).
My sweet Grandma passed away this week.
It wasn’t a surprise – we all knew that she was slowly deteriorating over the last few months.
Last Thursday, she moved from her apartment into a room in the nursing home next door – and deep down we all knew that this was the beginning of the end. While there were glimmers of hope that she would recover, we just knew.
And one week later, she passed into eternity.
The past 36 hours have been a flurry of grief, funeral preparations, gathering close to family, and doing everything we can to help my Mom and family get ready for tomorrow – when we’ll have a small memorial service and luncheon (which is precisely what my Grandma wanted us to do). - As the days passed this week and it became more and more obvious that we were getting closer and closer to the end – I’ve been flooded with memories.
I have always considered myself immensely blessed – I grew up with both my Grandma and Pap on my Mom’s side and my Meme and Grandpa on my Dad’s side living within a mile of my house. I have endless memories of all four of my Grandparents – and words cannot describe what a blessing that is. I know that is extremely rare – to not only have all four of my Grandparents alive and present in my life, but that they all lived so close.
I spent so much time with my Grandparents and in particular, my Grandmas – I considered them my best friends. From sleep-overs to lunch-dates to shopping trips to just sitting and talking for hours and hours.
I have so many stories I could share about my Grandma – I considered her my closest confident growing up. I knew I could tell her anything and she would not only willingly listen and truly hear me, but she would keep my confidence. I remember talking to her about troubles with friends, complaining about different situations I was going through, and once, I remember packing a suitcase and tossing it down the steps, boldly declaring that I was sick of living at home (i.e. I was angry at my parents over some nonsense) and I was moving in with Grandma.
My Grandma was always an amazing shopper and I remember saying that if I ever needed a piece of clothing – that I should just ask Grandma. When I was around 10 years old, all I truly wanted for my birthday was this Adidas track suit – it was parachute pants, a t-shirt, and a jacket set in the classic black with white stripes. There was just one problem: to buy all three pieces was very expensive. But that’s all I truly wanted – and my Grandma bought it for me for my birthday. I’ll never forget how loved that made me feel.
Speaking of shopping, Grandma was with me when I bought my wedding dress too. I had gone to several bridal shops with my Mom, but we just hadn’t found anything I loved that was without our budget. On the fly, I made an appointment at David’s Bridal – without realizing that my Mom wouldn’t be able to go with me. So, I called my Grandmas and asked them to come with me – and that night, I found and purchased my wedding dress.
One night when I was a young teenager, my sister and I were spending the night at my Grandma’s house. We went out to dinner and on our way out of the restaurant, noticed that the pet shop across the street had pets out for adoption. We decided to go check it out – and we left the pet shop with my Grandma being the brand new owner of a little dog named Misty. (Oops.) She loved that sweet pup though and Misty turned into the perfect little companion to my Grandparents.
Once, I had a cousins’ sleepover at my Grandma’s house – I was the younger cousin, but I desperately wanted to fit in with my “cool” older cousins and they graciously let me stay the night with them. My Grandma tucked us all into our respective sleeper sofas and couches down in her family room and she told us not to stay up too late. We did stay up, talking and laughing about who knows what, and that’s when the dishwasher kicked into high gear. We didn’t know it was the dishwasher though, and my “cool” older cousins were convinced that something terrible was happening – someone was definitely breaking in and going to murder us all. We all creeped up the stairs to my Grandma’s dark bedroom and hunkered down at the end of her bed. She woke up (we probably scared the crap out of her) and upon hearing our story of someone definitely breaking in downstairs, she angrily sent us all back down to our beds – explaining that it was JUST the dishwasher and we needed to go to sleep.
For about a year leading up to Leander being born, Braelynn and I went to story-time every week at the library. And most weeks, we picked up Grandma and took her along. She would sit in the main library, picking out books for herself and reading, while we went into the children’s library for story-time. Afterward, more often then not, Braelynn would request that we go out to lunch. She became a big fan of “The Cookie Place” (also known as Eat’n’Park) and that’s where we always went.
After Leander was born, our weekly library visits came to an end (after all, it was the middle of winter) – but we’d still pick up take-out from “The Cookie Place” and take it over to Grandma’s apartment for a picnic lunch on her living room floor. - I could go on and on and on. Long conversations over Auntie Anne’s cinnamon sugar pretzels in the mall food court, yard sales held in Grandma’s driveway, watching the news that Kennywood had been hit by a tornado and the roof of the Whip had been torn off, making Christmas cookies and nutrolls, hunting for Easter eggs (and that one time that the last egg was never found – until spring when Pap found it in the grill), being told stories about growing up in Glassport and going to parochial school, learning simple Polish words and phrases, and eating so much delicious food.
My Grandma was a master cook – whenever a family event was coming up, she would ask what she could bring – and I would always request her macaroni salad and/or potato salad. Her nutrolls were perfection and she agonized over making sure they came out just right.
I only remember her getting mad at me one time. When I was an older teen, I would go over and do some cleaning for her and she’d always give me some money for the work I did. I never wanted her to pay me though, so I’d always try to give it back. Once, I hid the money in her napkins on her dining room table and a few days later, she found it. The next time I saw her, she sternly told me that she wanted to give me the money for helping her and I better never hide the money she gave me in her house ever again (and I never did).
I could go on and on and on.
I have 34 years worth of memories with my Grandma and I feel like more and more keep resurfacing. I am immensely blessed to have had such a beautiful, wonderful, memorable relationship with her and I will miss her tremendously.
