Those are what we call memories…and they’re wonderful

I feel very lucky to have grown up with grandparents. Good ones.

1. My paternal grandfather (they called him Honey). He was a Navy veteran and a firefighter.  He passed away before I really knew him but I think we got along great. 🙂

In his youth.

As I knew him. He and I (at 3 months old). Enjoying a hot Jacksonville July, which I think explains our matching shirtless attire.

2. My paternal grandmother (I called her Nana). She would tell you exactly what her opinion of you and anything else was. A sassy but classy lady who never went out without makeup, a nice outfit and her hair done. She loved written correspondence and never let her grandkids go without hugs. She passed away in 2008.

In her youth.

As I knew her. She and my brother in 1996. Look how cute she was dressed (in her blazer and gold sandals) for putt-putt golf.

3. My maternal grandfather (I called him Poppi). He was the most amazing man. He was the strong silent type. He was a WW2 vet and made the best scrambled eggs with crumbled bacon in them. A farm boy from Tennessee, he married my grandmother after three days of knowing each other in New York City. He used to call me “Appleplumsugardumpling” and I would tell him that nicknames shouldn’t be longer than real names. He was so handsome and slicked his hair. He loved golf and taught me how to swing a club and let me drive the golf cart. He passed away in October 2000. It was my senior year in high school and my spring speech class assignment was an obituary. I wrote one for him. It took me 20 minutes to get through and I almost didn’t finish it through the tears.

In his youth.

As I knew him. He and I before my junior prom in May 2000.

4. But that leaves one special lady, my maternal grandmother (I call her Mima).  She is Italian but grew up in New York in an orphanage with her four older brothers. She is feisty and funny. She is terrified of heights but always a good sport. She loved to try new things and traveled with my Poppi all over the world. She took me to Australia where we rode camels on the beach and ate meat pies. She makes the only chicken tetrazzini I’ll eat and  is a wonderful writer and storyteller.

In her youth.

As I knew her. She, my brother and I in Atlanta for the '96 Olympics (while I was rocking white Keds, scrunchy socks, a mini backpack and overalls).

Mima and I at my college graduation August 2007.

She also has dementia. Something that strained our relationship in recent years–something that was very hard for me to handle after a lifetime of closeness. I was angry and sad and afraid. However, two days before her birthday this year, she wanted to see me. I have never gotten out of the house so quickly. All the things I was afraid of doing or saying or having happen seemed to disappear.

Sept. 1, 2011

I take the opportunity to visit her often now, and although she is occasionally confused, she is the same Mima I know and love.

Most recently, we were reminiscing. She has many stories but can’t always recall details. She brought up Poppi (my grandpa, her husband, who she refers to as “Daddy” after raising four kids with him 🙂 ) and our conversation went like this:

She said, “I miss Daddy.”

I said, “I know you do. Was he the love of your life?”

She said, “You know he was.”

I said with a smile, “I know he was.”

She said, “We only knew each other for three days, you know.”

I said, “I know! I can’t imagine. What was it like when you first got married? Do you remember?”

She said, “I can’t remember how we met. I remember one time, I got up in the morning and dragged myself to the bathroom where I ran into him. I looked like a hag.”

(I laughed out loud at that unexpected description)

She continued, “I asked him, ‘How could you love anything that looks like me?’ And he said, ‘I think you look beautiful.'”

She started to get choked up. OK, so did I.

She said, “He was such a good man. That’s the type of man all women should be lucky enough to have. I don’t know why I got so lucky.”

We shared some more stories when she grabbed my hand, squeezed it, and looked in, my eyes.

She said, “Those are what we call memories. And they are wonderful!”

I had that in my head all weekend. I also don’t know how I got so lucky. I know so many people with grandparents they only knew as distant, mean, in nursing homes or not at all.

I had not shared that story with anyone. I woke up Tuesday to a comment in queque on a month-old blog post about coming home from vacation. It was from my Mom:

How's that for coincidences?

So anyway, I’m sharing this whole experience because a) it has been so powerful for me and b) because I’m new to this. I have never had nursing home visits with someone I love. The aging process, the way the brain works and emotionally handling those two things are really interesting first-time experiences. Who wants to deal with emotions? Ick. I’m a shove-’em-down-ignore-’em-smile-and-keep-going kinda gal.

More interesting is how old the experience is making me feel. Is that weird? It has provided a really surreal perspective. Therefore, I’m also using it as an opportunity to cross off one of my 28 goals–facing a fear. I never would’ve associated this when I wrote that goal in April but, yeah, I’m claiming it.

One of my favorite doodles from Hugh Macleod (fabulous cartoonist at http://www.gapingvoid.com)

I hope you are having a wonderful week. I also hope this is not a downer as a heavy Wednesday and instead inspires you to appreciate loved ones and try something new to make memories. I have it on good authority that they’re wonderful!

Advertisements

8 responses to “Those are what we call memories…and they’re wonderful

  1. Very nice Adriane. I wish Mima and Poppy could read this. They would be so proud of you! I know I am.

  2. Very nice, my dear. You are mature and wise beyond your youthful appearance. May your loving husband appreciate you forever like Frank loved Stella and Honey loved Lillian. Love you,
    Dad

  3. What a beautiful tender post Adriane! I enjoyed reading it and getting to meet a part of who you are and who you come from. I see where you get your beauty, your feistiness, your talent for writing. Such memories are priceless and I am so happy you got to experience such love in your life. Thankyou for sharing!

  4. Pingback: A day of love and appreciation | Greenhorn Living

  5. Pingback: Brain dump | Greenhorn Living

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s