My grandmother passed away last week. It is still surreal just writing those words. No matter how much you can reasonably expect it, no matter what the doctors tell you, no matter what you see before you, it’s just not possible to be prepared for it to actually happen. My grandmother, my Mom-Mom, was exceptional.
My Mom-Mom was the best. I know everyone says that, and yea maybe I’m biased, but she really was. I loved spending time with her. I loved sleepovers at her house. I even loved the weekend I spent at her house when I came down with the flu because I just cuddled up in her bed, watched TV and ate food off of a tray she brought me. God knows there was never a shortage of food. Whether you wanted to eat or not, you ate. Imagine cooking breakfast for your young kids. You maybe make waffles, or eggs, slice up some fruit. Add on a ham, T-bone steaks, pizzelles, and cookies and now you’re getting closer to the type of breakfast she’d put out for us at 5 years old. Our high school was around the corner so sometimes on early dismissal days we’d go over for lunch. She’d have a full gravy on, frying up cutlets, feeding us a feast at 11am.
My grandparents had a pink baby grand piano that I just loved to play on. My cousins and I would prop up a book of music as if we could read it and bang away on that pink piano. Her house was like a museum with the plastic covered couches, crystal trinkets everywhere, and textured fuzzy wallpaper. We had so much fun.
Every phone call, every visit, she’d light up like she hadn’t seen you in forever even if you were just there the other day. I remember when we were little and my grandparents would come over all of us, all 12 grandkids, would go rushing them at the front door. At Easter they’d always bring us the BIGGEST Easter baskets. At Christmas they’d pile all of us in the car and take us to see Santa. Then as we got older they’d take us to the casino for dinner and pass hundreds around the table if it was a good day at blackjack.
All of the memories I have of her growing up are special, but it wasn’t until I became a mother that I got to know my grandmother in another way. She was always my Mom-Mom, but when I became a mother she became a fellow mother. After I had my first miscarriage, she shared with me about hers. I never knew. Her first pregnancy ended early, the same way my first pregnancy did. When I would talk about my pregnancy, she would talk about hers. She told stories of my grandfather’s excitement and it sounded a lot like my husbands. She told me about her birth, about her sleepless nights. I saw her then as a young mother figuring it out, just the same way I was. Relating to her in this new way was such a gift. She started to become more of a friend.
Family was always the most important thing to her and NOTHING was more important than her children. Being a mother was the joy of her life. She loved her children so much and when they became parents she poured her love into her 12 grandchildren. She was so excited for my first baby, her first great grandchild. I’m so grateful I was able to have her and my grandfather at the hospital to meet him when he was born. Her excitement over each great grandchild since was the same. Oh man how she loved these babies...
So often I would do something with my kids, singing a little song or calling them a little pet name, and I would think I came up with it. It was my original. Then later I would see my mom do the same thing with my baby and I’d realize it was something my mom had done with me when I was baby that was buried way back in my subconscious. Then later still I’d see my grandmother do the same and realize it started with her, and probably her mother before her. She always told me I was a great mom, and I would just reply it was because of her. This whole family started with her. This huge, hilarious, tight knit family who would do anything for each other started with her. She raised my mom and aunt and uncles to be close. To be each other’s best friends, and that carried on down to my siblings and my cousins (who are more like siblings), and now our children will all grow up together. She provided the greatest foundation for us.
I know my grandmother is still here. I know she is here watching over me and my children, her “doll babies” as she called them. What is truly special is knowing she is here in another way, too. Her love, her guidance, her silly sayings, they will all live on through me, and then through my kids the way they have for generations.
My grandmother loved to cook. She loved a cold beer. She loved a dirty joke. She was a regular at the Tropicana casino and ran the blackjack tables. She was famous for her hair. She loved her family and fought like hell to stay here with us.
Mom-Mom, you will always be here. Our babies will always know you, and their babies will, too. Thank you for your endless love, your support, and your friendship. I love you so much and I always will.
