On Saturday, May 19th, my beloved and lovely grandmother turned 100 years old. 100! My family and I gathered to celebrate this magnificent lady and presented her with a scrapbook of each of our own personal memories, compiled by her children, grand-children, and great grand-children. Enclosed on one of my pages is this letter I wrote to her:
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When I
finally write the book that I know is buried within my heart, I will dedicate
it to you. For you also know that book
exists, I think you understand (you have always understood) that it currently
moves about my bones, beats like blood through my heart, but is not quite ready
to be born, not quite. And yet you
believe that one day it will be, you have said it to me, encouraged me to keep
writing, on multiple occasions. You
offer this gift to me, about my book and my future, in a voice that brings calm
assurance and certainty. It is a blessing
to me, one precious gift among the multitudes that you have blessed me with for
over 38 years as my grandmother.
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If I could
have created a grandmother, imagined one up entirely on my own, I know without
a doubt I would have drawn exactly who you, my beloved Grandma, turned out to
be. Story-teller, cookie baker, special
holidays visitor, bedtime tuck-in-er, elaborate pancake maker, sewer, tickle
your toes at bath timer, dress shopper, giggler, beautiful doll admirer, world
traveler, supporter, card mailer and letter writer, encourager, hugger,
decorator, co-conspirator, excellent cook, amazing baker, talented gardener,
Scrabble player extraordinaire.
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There is an
old home movie from Christmas 1983. We
are all in your house, the one my Dad grew up in. I am four years old.
At 38, I marvel at this video. There
is the old Quincy house, just as I remember. There are my cousins, all children
themselves. My father is, of course,
behind his massive video camera tripod. There are my aunts and uncles, younger
in the video than I am now myself, all of them bleary-eyed and sipping coffee
while chaos consumes the room. Wearing a
blue flannel nightgown, my little bowl haircut complete with bed-head to prove
I’ve just woken up, I walk into the room holding my mother’s hand. It is apparent that I am slightly overwhelmed
by the throws of Christmas bedlam in the family room – presents being furiously
opened, wrapping paper tossed across the room, hoots and hollers as Santa’s
gifts are discovered. It is frenetic and
I am suddenly shy, staying close to my Mother’s side, holding her hand as she
encourages me to look for my presents under the Christmas tree.
Then.
There is
suddenly you. You have just sat down on
the sofa, green robe on and mug of coffee in hand. Warmly, lovingly, in that
voice of yours that I know so well, you greet little four-year-old me with a
“well hello there!” In a single leap I am up and in your arms, wrapping myself
around you for a big, grateful, familiar hug.
My Grandma.
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You have
been a constant in my life, Grandma and I cannot begin to tell you how much I
appreciate that. From horse shows to
ballet recitals to doll obsessions to birthday parties to high school dances to
high school and college graduations to new jobs and apartments and more
schooling you have been there, either in person or in spirit every step of the
way - always excited, encouraging, and proud.
To have a grandmother so involved and so interested in my life and where
my own journey takes me feels like one of the greatest gifts I could ever
receive. You have taught me more than I probably even realize, but I will tell
you one of the biggest life lessons you have given me is to be grateful and to
never forget our blessings – even the smallest and simplest ones. You are an optimist and when I think of you,
the first image that comes to my mind is one of you laughing, giggling over a
story I have told you. You carry so much
light, Grandma. So much joy and
love. Truly so much love. It amazes me; it humbles me.
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I must be
honest. I am admitting defeat. This is unusual for me as I often do not go
down without a fight. But, as I sit here
reflecting on the most apt way to summarize all that you mean to me and have
meant to me as my grandmother, I am at a loss.
For as much as I love reading and writing and believe words are some of
the most powerful weapons in this world, I find in this instance they are
failing me. Because I don’t quite know
how to capture the immense love that I have for you, Grandma. I’m not sure how to articulate the joy you
have brought to my life or how truly blessed and grateful I feel to have shared
so many years together, to have built more memories than I can count.
And that is
why they say a picture is worth 1,000 words.
While working on your birthday scrapbook I came across a photo of the
two of us, one I could not recall ever seeing before. In it you look chic (as always) in your white
cover-up and dark green scarf tied ‘round your hair. I am two years old, three at the most. We’re standing in the perfectly clear water
of the Bahamas and I’ve just started to run from you, splashing in the waves,
making my way to whomever is taking this picture. Still, even as I run away, my head is
slightly turned back to you; I want to know you’re still there. You stand behind me, laughing, watching my
little toddler legs carry me away. It is a snapshot of perfection, a magically
mundane moment. To me, it is us.
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And now you
are turning 100. One hundred! While I am fully aware that I have no control
over how long a person is here on this earth, I still feel so very proud of
you. I am proud to know you and I am incredibly fortunate and forever grateful that you are my
Grandma.
Happy 100th
birthday to one of the most beautiful women I have ever known. I love you so very much.
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