Sometime last week a contemporary of my grandmother's fell at school (the same school where my father and grandmother taught and where my mom, dad, aunt, uncle, cousins and I all went to school) after tripping on a book bag which a ten or eleven year old threw down in the hallway without looking. This 90+ year old woman fell, gashed her head open and broke her hip. We won't talk about how she probably shouldn't be teaching any more at her age. Instead you get to listen to me whine for a minute or two.
Four and a half years ago a similar incident is what lead to the death of my grandmother. The only grandparent I ever knew. Grandma tripped on her walker on July 4th, 2006 and broke her hip. She passed away four days later, five weeks short of her 87th birthday. The difference in these situations is, of course, that my grandmother died and her contemporary coasted through her hip replacement surgery without a single issue. She's likely to leave the hospital tomorrow or the next day.
And this, I am ashamed to admit, makes me angry. Which in turn makes me feel horrible and ashamed of myself that I should be wishing ill on a woman who spent her entire life teaching. A woman who has made a difference to so many young people. It's not even that I'm wishing her ill exactly, it's more of a "why did SHE get to live and grandma have to die?" kind of whining. I don't want her to die, that would be awful.
My mind is perpetuating the selfish whining of a little child instead of the rational thoughts of the woman who knows that her grandmother had been ready to go for years. I have some how managed to block out the knowledge that grandma asked the doctors to stop trying when they weren't able to get her blood pressure back up after surgery. She knew she'd had a good, long life and that her time had come. She was ready to go. She wanted to see my grandfather again, her husband who'd died 29 years before shortly after they'd retired. I was only 2 years old and know him only from pictures and stories. I don't remember him at all.
Rational, adult me knows that these two falls and surgeries have no relation to each other at all. Different circumstances, different women, different everything. Selfish child me cannot separate the two in my head. Rational, adult me is happy for this woman and her family. Selfish child me is mad that she got to live and my grandmother died. Rational, adult me feels awful and is ashamed of the selfish child me. Rational, adult me and selfish child me both wish we'd spent more time with grandma than we did.
Not to mention thinking about all this brings up thoughts of Ms. Ex and how she didn't want to go to my grandmother's funeral with me. That was awesome. Apparently having to take a day off work to be supportive of me was an inconvenience to her schedule.
I'm going to go let rational, adult me wrestle with selfish child me some more. And perhaps have a good cry.
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Anniversaries
This is my grandmother (my mother's mother) and me circa Christmas 1982 (notice the date helpfully written in the corner of the picture? Thanks gram!). I was seven. She had already been a widow for nearly five and a half years after my grandfather's sudden death. She was the only grandparent I ever knew.
She died three years ago today, just over a month before her 87th birthday. I think maybe that's why I've been in a bit of a funk the last couple days. Our unconscious holds onto these memories even when we're not aware they're being held.
My parents and I lived with her from the time I was about two and half until I was about four and a half (give or take a couple months on either side). I wish I could tell you I remembered that time, but I don't. I was too young.
I do remember going to her house after school or maybe it was before I was old enough for school and my mom would drop me off at her house before she went to work. Grandma would make me a snack of buttered (or was it margarine?) saltines. We would play games or I would build with the lincoln log set that was missing a lot of pieces or I'd play with the mini cast iron stove she always kept on the low shelf in the kitchen right next to the tin of cookies. We would go for walks up the hill behind her house. That's where I got to pet a deer one afternoon when we were collecting milkweed pods so she could make pine cone angels to sell at the church fair.
As a teenager and adult I didn't spend much time with her. Like we all do, I always figured there'd be more time, she'd always been there so she's always BE there. I didn't write enough and I never called. I never knew what to say and I hate the phone so it just never happened.
Now though I wish I'd asked her what it was like for her when Poppa was off fighting "the war." Or what her parents were like. Or why she became a teacher. She was our family historian and did write down some family stories, but I wish she'd written more, written it all. And I don't even know where the ones she did write are now. I think my mom might have them.
Last night I think she came to me in a dream. This is the first time I've dreamed of her maybe ever, but certainly since her death. I've dreamed of being in her house, but she's never been in the dream itself. I like to think it was her in my dream last night not just my subconscious reminding me of the anniversary of her death. She looked about the age she'd have been in this picture, maybe even a little younger. And she looked happy. I saw her smile and heard her laugh. I just hope she and Poppa are together now. She missed him terribly. As much as I wish I'd spent more time with grandma, I wish I'd gotten a chance to know Poppa, but I was only two when he died and I don't remember him at all. He was quite a character from the stories I've heard.
Today's lyrics come from History of Us by the Indigo Girls. I have a long standing love for the Indigo Girls and have been on a kick recently listening to all their albums on shuffle on my iPod (which caused an interesting repeat of songs today when it played different versions of the same song one after the other, but I digress). Also, I can't find a video to link to for this song other than a cover by someone named Bev and that's not what I'm going for here. Try typing "History of Us" into the Youtube search. Know what you get? A lot of videos about the history of the United States. Not what I'm going for either.
So we must love while these moments are still called today
Take part in the pain of this passion play
Stretching our youth as we must, until we are ashes to dust
Until time makes history of us
She died three years ago today, just over a month before her 87th birthday. I think maybe that's why I've been in a bit of a funk the last couple days. Our unconscious holds onto these memories even when we're not aware they're being held.
My parents and I lived with her from the time I was about two and half until I was about four and a half (give or take a couple months on either side). I wish I could tell you I remembered that time, but I don't. I was too young.
I do remember going to her house after school or maybe it was before I was old enough for school and my mom would drop me off at her house before she went to work. Grandma would make me a snack of buttered (or was it margarine?) saltines. We would play games or I would build with the lincoln log set that was missing a lot of pieces or I'd play with the mini cast iron stove she always kept on the low shelf in the kitchen right next to the tin of cookies. We would go for walks up the hill behind her house. That's where I got to pet a deer one afternoon when we were collecting milkweed pods so she could make pine cone angels to sell at the church fair.
As a teenager and adult I didn't spend much time with her. Like we all do, I always figured there'd be more time, she'd always been there so she's always BE there. I didn't write enough and I never called. I never knew what to say and I hate the phone so it just never happened.
Now though I wish I'd asked her what it was like for her when Poppa was off fighting "the war." Or what her parents were like. Or why she became a teacher. She was our family historian and did write down some family stories, but I wish she'd written more, written it all. And I don't even know where the ones she did write are now. I think my mom might have them.
Last night I think she came to me in a dream. This is the first time I've dreamed of her maybe ever, but certainly since her death. I've dreamed of being in her house, but she's never been in the dream itself. I like to think it was her in my dream last night not just my subconscious reminding me of the anniversary of her death. She looked about the age she'd have been in this picture, maybe even a little younger. And she looked happy. I saw her smile and heard her laugh. I just hope she and Poppa are together now. She missed him terribly. As much as I wish I'd spent more time with grandma, I wish I'd gotten a chance to know Poppa, but I was only two when he died and I don't remember him at all. He was quite a character from the stories I've heard.
Today's lyrics come from History of Us by the Indigo Girls. I have a long standing love for the Indigo Girls and have been on a kick recently listening to all their albums on shuffle on my iPod (which caused an interesting repeat of songs today when it played different versions of the same song one after the other, but I digress). Also, I can't find a video to link to for this song other than a cover by someone named Bev and that's not what I'm going for here. Try typing "History of Us" into the Youtube search. Know what you get? A lot of videos about the history of the United States. Not what I'm going for either.
So we must love while these moments are still called today
Take part in the pain of this passion play
Stretching our youth as we must, until we are ashes to dust
Until time makes history of us
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