November 13, 2016.
I am writing this as I sit at the foot of a hospital bed that has been brought into the house my grandma has called home for several years. Her bed faces a large bay window overlooking a sizable yard, with fields beyond that. There’s frequently chickens in her view as well as a variety of colorful birds that visit the 5-7 bird feeders of the tree that centers in the window. She’s been asking for a baby fainting goat and an air horn for awhile… You can guess why. That sums her up pretty well all by itself. Didn’t give 2 shits about what anyone had to think or say… If it sounded fun to her, or funny, she would make it happen.
She can’t move easily more than a few feet from the place where she is, and hasn’t been able to for over a year. She has become the center of the household. The sun to our rotating lives. She’s been the glue, that held her kids and family together, then her grandkids and finally, her great grandkids. We all find comfort and “home” when we visit. Some know her as Betty or mom, most of us know her as granny.
Her life began, way before there was “quick, easy, instant” anything. You made do with what you had, and you didn’t complain. Because of the wide range of knowledge she possesses, she is always my go-to for home remedies, old-school ideas, never before seen recipes, and general all around advice on pretty much everything. She is an incredible mother, always giving and making sure her children were taken care of, even in the final moments.
Because of the connection and love she brought to the entire family, every time I would have a baby, I’d throw the whole family in the car and make the road trip, that used to seem to last forever, and now seems like just down the street, to bring my new baby for her inspection and approval. She loves new babies. She would sit in her chair and beat their butts until they fell asleep. Her calm demeanor and willingness to hold the new life for hours would mean I would get to sleep when I’d go see her. She never made me feel like I didn’t know what I was doing, she taught me how to be a better mom. My kids would get ring worm or lice and she would have some remedy that sounded a lot like a sacrifice to the gods or some other witchcraft, but they always worked. Or if I called her in a panic because someone’s tooth went through their lip, she’d calm me down and tell me to get some ice on it, make sure there wasn’t tooth in the wound and just wait for the bleeding to stop, she never failed to help me handle emergencies with grace and calm.
Her patience with all of us grandkids was always incredible. We grew up, my cousins and brothers, one big family in the back room of her sub shop. Peeling hundreds of eggs from a 5 gallon bucket, as payment for the food we would eat, and I’m sure run her into the negative some days. Climbing the stock shelves in the back all the way to the ceiling, making forts on rickety shelving that no parent today would even consider safe, or sleeping in the office on the 1959 couch… Most comfortable couch ever. No matter if we cleaned out the candy shelves because we could eat anything we could reach there, or came inside from the creek out back(really a water drainage ditch) muddy to our knees and wanting to show her the catch of the day… Styrofoam cup of Mini frogs…. Into her sub shop, breaking multiple health code violations with one try…she never lost her temper, never made us feel like less of a person, never made us feel less welcome. She always made us feel like our minor achievements were nothing less than spectacular. Every time
Christmas I remember the tree, she would hang it upside down from the ceiling so the little kids wouldn’t mess with it… Always with a large pile of magic underneath. She would split the presents up between all of us and I remember each pile, though the presents were different, no one ever got jealous that someone had more or better than them. She was good at “fair”.
She was always good at encouraging me to take risks, get dirty, work hard… She did.
In her old house, the one with the tree we all used to climb in, in an attempt to break something I’m sure, there were rabbits. I remember seeing them, every time I would be there… But they would change, colors, sizes… And number… It took me years to realize… She didn’t have “pets”… She was raising food. But damn, was her rabbit stew good.
We had a discussion once about the woman who buckled her kids in their car seats and drove her mini van into a lake. I tell people I don’t condone what the woman did, but I could understand how she got the the point of wanting to do what she did. I asked granny if she ever got to the point where she just needed to step away, or felt like smothering a kid. Her response, without hesitation “never”. She is stronger than I am, someone whom I strive to be more like as a mother. Gave selflessly, constantly to her children so they could have a better shot or bigger dreams.
She is the woman that encouraged me to raise my kids to be independent thinkers, not scared to get dirty, eat some dirt if you wanted to, and enjoy moments, memories.
Every time I would make the trip to see her, I know she would be the on the receiving end, ready to tell me how it was.
My haircut looked stupid.
Why do I keep letting that boy be like that to me.
I didn’t need a man.
How come I was being a dumbass.
No matter what the situation was, she would always be there, to run to, to hide with, to comfort me, to remind me to breathe.
Most of all though, is her sense of humor. Her wit always catches me off guard. Telling a hospice nurse she wanted to go for a ride, and when she was told no, she looked right at the nurse and says “why, you afraid I’m going to die”.
Me asking her if there’s anything I can do for her and without missing a beat, tells me to take a shit for her. Then when I couldn’t figure out how to do that, offering to bargain with her if she could take her own poop, I would then take one after.
Gathering the entire family in the room for what we thought was a final speech, only to tell us all that someone needed to open a race track for pigs that would double as a pool hall for teenagers during the summer so they wouldn’t get hot. Even now, laying in bed and opening her eyes to ask me if I ate today.
Her buhbye’s were always more of a “talk to you later”.
She taught me to give to the less fortunate, without questions of thanks or recognition.
She genetically made it hard for me to walk past a homeless teenager without offering a meal, or bed. We joke that it’s her fault that I have random kids on my couches most of the time.
Today, we had a conversation about how old my parents were. She asked about my dad first, I told her he was 65 or something and she said she didn’t believe me, then she asked how old my mom was, her daughter I gave her about the same age.. Her response… Wow… How old does that make me. I told her… She said huh. And that was the end of the conversation.
‘I don’t know nothin’ – would be her version of “I have nothing nice to say about that”.
She taught me to feed everyone, all the time… And if they had just eaten, feed them anyway.
She taught me to laugh… At everything. She is part of the reason when my kids fall down the stairs I giggle.
She taught me that beating everyone would solve all their problems.. I’d tell her something and her solution was always “just beat Em”. Or if she was upset at us, or what her version of upset is, she would threaten to beat the transgressors and we’d just step out of reach, giggle and run off… Knowing that she wasn’t really upset, and we weren’t really in any danger.
She would tell me I made a stupid decision and I would try to defend myself or reassure her I would recover and be fine… Her response would always be ‘I know’. She always knew better than me.
She told my mom, she was afraid no one would come to her funeral, because most of her friends were already dead. If she knew how many people she affected, how many lives she inspired, I don’t think she would have had that fear.
She is one of my heroes. Someone I thought would live forever and watching her grow weaker has been excruciatingly painful. But through it all, she kept her sense of humor, and still manages to keep all of us on our toes.
So, today, when she says she wants to go home, face full of pain, we tell her it’s ok. You can go home, we’ll see you later. Buhbye granny.
December 18, 2016
At 1:40am this morning, I lost my first invincible woman. I thought she would live forever. She was tougher than anyone I knew. I’m glad she won’t suffer anymore, I’m glad she’s not confined to a bed, constantly fighting with her own mind, trying to find peace and freedom. She is at rest, but it’s going to be hard, not being able to pick up the phone and ask her questions, not running grand babies to her, not instantly hearing her when I walk through the door of what was all her children, grandchildren and great grandchildren’s second home. I love you granny… see you soon.
