It's such a beautiful thing to love and be loved back. Not just from the opposite sex, but from family. Today is my grandmother's birthday, and I couldn't miss her more than I already do. A little over four years ago she passed away in her bed, a few hours after I spoke to her on the phone. She had been very sick for a very long time, and I remember wishing that she would just go ahead and die so she wouldn't be in any pain anymore. The day she did actually die, we spoke on the phone after my mother warned me it may be the last time I get to speak to her. Wish I had known it would be.
Her Alzheimer's had gotten the best of her by that time, and when she answered the phone, she thought I was my mom. I didn't have the heart to tell her any different so I let her believe I was her little JoAnn. She told me she could see the angels and how beautiful they were. I then did something that I think my mom couldn't do, I let her go. I told her if she could see the angels, quit hanging around here and join them. Mind you, she thought I was my mother. To this day I still feel a little guilty for having done that, because if she was waiting on my mom to be okay with her going to her peaceful rest, then I stole something from a woman laying on her deathbed. The thought that her daughter would be okay. I pretended to be that daughter to save her the ache of having to hear the explanation of who I was. Maybe it's a bit silly to feel guilty over letting someone pass away peacefully, but that's my burden over that.
But I know my granny loved me as much as humanly possible. Many of my first memories are of her holding me when I cried, talking to me on the phone when I was scared or sad, or even just working at the flea market with her. She was a huge developer of who I am today. She taught me what it meant to be kind and hard working. After many years of struggling with alcohol, my granny quit drinking when I was born. She worked hard to stay sober, and for nearly twenty one years she never had another drop of the stuff. I like to think it was for me, but we all know that no addict changes for anyone else and succeeds. She changed for herself and who she wanted to be. She then became the pillar for my mom and me and my sister for a long time after my parents got divorced. She was the one I called daily to cry and be a sad little girl whose parents just couldn't bring themselves to love each other anymore. I called her every Sunday to tell her "Happy Jesus Day" up until the last few weeks of her life. I just couldn't bare the pain.
To this day I have to catch myself from calling her when I need someone to talk to. I still dial those numbers in a fit of rage when I need someone to help me understand men. SO many times I have hit those ten digits just to remember that, if I dialed them, it would not be Thelma who answered, but a stranger who had no idea who I am. And I think that's the part I hate the most of her being gone. Not having that same voice pick up the phone. No "Hello Little Ashly!" No answering machine that says a prayer for you as you wait for the beep. She's just GONE. I can barely remember the voice that soothed me to sleep so many nights. I can just barely see the face of the angel who taught me to love Jesus more than I loved anything. I don't remember her smell at all. I had a bottle of her perfume for a while, but even it dried up and the smell did not linger. The only things I have of the woman I loved the most, is the blanket she died with and her red duck doorstop that I had to beg her to leave me. And of course all of the many memories.
When my husband's father passed away, I said I had no idea what it was like to lose a parent. At the time I didn't think it was fair to even try and compare the depth of sadness I felt about my granny to the agonizing pain he was going through. But for me, losing my granny WAS losing a parent. I see that now. There are so many memories I have of her being there for me. More than my father. She helped me through boy problems, through my parents divorce, and even more haunting, she even helped me cope with her death. She had been preparing me for the day she would pass for a very long time. I always ignored it and told her she would outlive me. Which, of course, she never would. But she always made sure to tell me there would come a day that she wouldn't be able to brush away my pains, talk away my fears, or kiss away boo boos. Looking back now, I am glad she always said those things. It made it a little easier to be strong for my mother. I only broke down a few times. Once to clean her body when the hospice nurse needed help, once when they took her away from the house, and once during her funeral. It made me sad that a couple of her wants for her funeral were not able to be obtained due to monetary issues, but we did the best we could with what we had. She wanted the grandchildren to sing "I'll Fly Away". She wanted a version of Elvis's gospel songs played. We didn't do those things, but I will tell you one thing. At least once daily, in my head, I sing "I'll Fly Away" just for her. And I know she is smiling on me and clapping along.
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