My grandma died last week. Halloween morning. I was in morning drop off with Em when I was notified.
I didn’t feel anything.
I hadn’t seen my grandmother since January 2020. Emma was nine months old. She was living in her own apartment at the time in Walbridge, Ohio. Her dementia was getting really bad at that time. She had asked every few minutes how old Emma was and when her birthday was.
Emma was born the day before her birthday. When I called her after having Emma and told her what day she was born on, her voice sparked with glee because it was so close to hers.
Dementia is a difficult condition for me to be around. It’s not easy for anyone. I do not know how to handle it properly. My Nana (my father’s mother) developed Alzheimer’s around 2003/2004 and in February 2005, just before I graduated high school, she passed away. She was my best friend. The sweetest person in the world. The smartest person I knew. Gone. I was broken and hurt. I miss her so much to this day. She was a light to the world.
So I can’t be around it.
I’ve seen my grandma’s oldest sister confined to a hospital bed in her home in her last days and I’ve witnessed her other sister laying in a hospice bed with a tube in her mouth suctioning out saliva because she couldn’t swallow any longer. A definite sign of near death.
When my late (still so hard to say sometimes) husband passed in March, I was done with death. I don’t want to be a part of it anymore. I want to celebrate my life, my daughter’s life, all of the people in my life that support us and love us back unconditionally. We are still here. Let’s focus on making the best of it.
I went to three funerals this year after Brandon’s. It was not easy walking back into a funeral home again, but I do hard things with grace. And I fucking did it again and again and again.
But this time, I’m not sure if I’ll be in attendance. It’s not because of my grandma, it’s not because of work or a scheduling conflict.
Personal reasons. Another blog for another day. Sorry folks.
But let me tell you some really awesome things about my grandma that weren’t mentioned in her obituary, from the perpsective of one of her grandchildren.
Grandma was a machine. From the moment she got up at 8am, she would make her bed with all the throw pillows and dolls and stuffed animals you could ever think of. Every. Single. Morning. Nothing was ever out of place on that bed. Not a single wrinkle ever seen.
After making the bed, she’d throw on her zip up robe and glide into her slippers and head downstairs to start making the BIGGEST, MOST DELICIOUS HOMEMADE breakfast you could imagine. All the meats, biscuits, eggs, sausage gravy, toast….oh, and potatoes. She’d let us pick out the potatoes in the bin in the stairwell to the basement.
After cooking for an army, even though there may have only been 3 of us total eating, she’d clean up and do dishes. You’d never see a dirty dish in the sink.
Dinner was the same routine. Fresh ingredients, more than enough food for us and the neighbor (that she took a plate over to almost nightly) and the kitchen was spotless afterwards whether you wanted to help or not.
If you’re a millenial, raise your hand if you polish your solid wood furniture routinely. Don’t be shy.
(Looks around)
No one? Okay, then. Well, we did that with grandma. She should of have worn Pledge furniture spray as perfume because if I smell it, I smell her. It’s not a bad thing. Just olfactory memories creeping in.
Her home, covered in wood paneling and a drop ceiling, was highly decorated with numerous items from religious pieces to floral arrangements, to candles, to deer heads on the wall. Everything had a place. Everything was immaculate. Doilies as far as the eye can see. It wasn’t the biggest house on the street, but there was a seat for everyone who stopped by.
She was constantly in the kitchen, or in her garden, doing laundry or re-arranging her furniture. Never settled down until it was after dinner. And now I finally understand where I get it from.
Thinking back on my childhood and the summers and weekends I’d spend at my grandma’s house either by myself or with my siblings and/or cousins, I can think of five things I LOVED about my grandma.
5. She always encouraged us to do the hard work before getting to play and have fun. She’d hang laundry in the back yard along the sidewalk from the house to the garage and she’d let us help her hang bedsheets and then let us run through them like it was a race. It’s exactly how you’d imagine it.
4. In the summer, she’d turn her garage into the ultimate ‘hang out’ spot. The cars would go outside and her rugs, patio furniture, lamps, you name it would occupy the garage and it turned into a relaxing living space. No internet. I think there was a TV in there but later on in the years. We had a radio where we blasted country music and played house and school and bartender (there was a bar and a full size kegerator). We’d spend all day out there and it was our safe space.
3. Like I said, my grandma was a machine, so she was on her feet ALL DAMN DAY. Some nights after she’d take a shower and relax in her recliner, she’d turn on Wheel of Fortune and she’d let me polish her toenails or massage her achy feet. It filled my heart to treat her to some pampering for everything she did for us.
2. Grandma let us be kids. We got dirty in the garden, we had adventures on our evening walks, we went for ice cream at the Dairy Depot. She taught us how to spend time in nature, how to be a good neighbor, and how to spoil a dog.
- She was the grandparent that always showed up for you. Every softball game, Friday night football game and Sunday morning wrestling match. Every sport & award banquet and musical. Field trips, grandparents day, and when you needed a ride somewhere. She was there. She never let me down. I’ll always appreciate and love her for that.
If my siblings or cousins read this, I hope the next few words make you smile or giggle a bit.
Freedent. Werthers. Sterlings.
(Remember the ONE AND ONLY time she had all five of us at once? Good times.)
Two things I will take away from the teachings of my grandmother: Always tell the truth first and foremost; you’ll be in less trouble than if you were to lie. And fried chicken is always best cooked in cast iron. Gosh, I miss her fried chicken.
I leave you with this.
My dark humor helps me get through the days more often than not. So I look at my grandma’s death like this: Since she died on Halloween, maybe she just really wanted to be a ghost for Halloween and she made it happen. So you go Jetta!
You Can Do Hard Things 
Our grandmas were definitely a different breed! I aspire to be that disciplined. Thank you for sharing.
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