These past couple of weeks have been a flurry of craziness for my family. My grandmother decided she wanted to move to a retirement facility. She is, after all, 92 years old. So, the process of moving her began. She had been in the same house for 25 years, so that was a little more involved than the normal move. That, and the fact that she couldn't take everything with her. So, we sorted and packed, family heirlooms were distributed, and the remaining items were left for a moving sale. That sale happened this past weekend.
One day one of my uncles decided to bring my grandmother by for a while. She sat there for a while, and things were fine until *it* sold.
Her stereo.
This thing must have been from the '60's or '70's. It had a receiver and a record player - after all, that's all a stereo would have had back then. I remember that record player. Listening to Scheherezade and Bolero as a child. As it was being sold we looked at my grandmother and she was crying. This stoic woman, whom I had never seen cry before and my mother had only seen cry once or twice, was silently crying. It was one of the most heartbreaking things I have ever seen. I think it was more that the relinquishing of a beloved item -- it was the relinquishing of part of herself, of her independence. My grandmother is a woman who evokes a myriad of emotions for me. Emotions such as
Frustration - Growing up in the same house as her was not easy. She would hide her favorite measuring cups so we wouldn't use them. After all, they might be dirty when she needed them. She would also count everything. Cups, bowls, plates, spoons, forks, knives...everything was counted regularly. Often life would come to a halt so we cold find a missing spoon. (Did I mention Obsessive Compulsive Disorder runs rampant in our family?)We also had to leave the second church was over. No chatting with friends. I remember that I couldn't wait to be able to move out and use whatever measuring cup I wanted and never, ever count another spoon or plate again. Oh, and the poetry! We had to listen to her poems all the time!
Anger - I remember once when we both had subscriptions to Reader's Digest (yes, I was *that* child who had her own subscription to Reader's Digest...). Her copy was missing so she took mine until we found hers. Turns out it was high up on a piece of furniture, where only she and I could reach, and I (having my own copy) wouldn't have been the one to put it up there. Yet I was responsible for finding it.
Amusement - Growing up in our home, there were two topics you quickly learned to avoid. Sometimes you even went so far as to warn guests to avoid these topics AT ALL COSTS!! They were certain to incite a tirade of words that could continue for some time. What were these taboo topics? Politics? Somewhat. Liberalism was a vehemently hated viewpoint, but it wasn't one of the top two. Religion? World peace? Calvinism vs. Armenianism? Oreo vs. Hydrox? Quilted Northern vs. Scott? No, none of these. The taboo two were: The Kennedy family and the ACLU. I can still hear her at the table, "They called Jackie Kennedy our queen. Well, I have no queen!!"
Admiration - This was a woman who had gone through two divorces, raised three children alone, watched one of them battle alcoholism and the other two go through divorces of their own. This woman had unhesitatingly taken in her daughter and her three young daughters after a divorce. While my mother, at times, worked three jobs and went to school to get her Master's degree, my grandmother took us to school, to piano lessons, to church. She cooked for us (yes, we would have things such as potato soup and vegetable soup - aka "throw-whatever's-in-the-fridge-into-the-pot" - for days on end and to this day I can not stand either of them), and let us all live with her for a lot less than we could have lived on our own. As my uncles had difficult times in their lives she would take them in, too, leading to a very full house at times.
As I watched my grandmother cry over her lost stereo, her lost independence, I felt something new. I felt compassion. Sorrow. For the first time, I saw her frailty. How fragile she has become. This woman who has been a rock in my life (albeit, at times a rock I felt was more in my way than a support) is fading. She will soon be gone. And that fills me with an incredible sadness.
Before the sale, I went to her house a couple of times to help sort and price. That's when I found this:
This mug. Her mug. I can't count how many mornings I wanted her drink her coffee from this. My mother was surprised that she had chosen to place this mug in the sale. Even Nathan knew that this was Grandma's mug. And I knew I had to keep it. With all that was being sold, I couldn't let this go to someone else. In the grand scheme of things, it's probably just another mug. Nothing special or valuable. But to me it is a reminder. It is a reminder of this remarkable woman, an artist and a poet, who could infuriate and inspire, frustrate and frazzle, sacrifice and support. A reminder of what family is. And a reminder of how quickly even the strongest among us can turn frail.
Thank you, Grandma, for always being there.
