Dear Gramma

Dear Gramma -

I miss you. It's hard to believe that it's already been five years since you've been gone. I've been thinking about you a lot lately, and just remembering.

I remember Friday night sleepovers. We'd have fish and chips for dinner just about every Friday. At night, my brother, you, and me would all climb in your bed together. Your snoring would keep me awake a lot of times (so that's where mom got it from!)

I remember you telling my brother and me that you'd "give us back to the Indians" whenever we were being bad or goofing around.

I remember fruit salad. You'd cut up the fruit, and Jonathan and I would eat most of the fruit before it ever found its way to the bowl.

I remember digging for clams with you and all the great-aunts at the local state park. I loved that even at grandparent age, you still got together with your sisters. I remember throwing rocks to see where the clams were "peeing" the most, digging with garden tools, and having tons of little cuts all over my fingers by the end of the day from digging. I remember exploring the shoreline and climbing the giant rocks when I got tired of clamming. Even today, this section of the park is my favorite to visit when I need some solitude.

I remember clam boils, holiday gatherings, and regular weekend meals with the family. You always worked so hard to keep the family together, and I admire that even more now that I'm older and see how difficult keeping people together can be.

I remember pasta and bread. And more pasta. And more bread. And...even more pasta and bread.

I remember our town's Fourth of July craziness. Uncle B would stay overnight at your house the day before so he could get down to the parade route early in the morning. We'd always get together at your house after the parade. After the parade one year, I remember selling watermelon slices to people stuck in traffic in front of your house.

I remember trick or treating at your house. You always gave us WAY too much Halloween candy, but I didn't mind.

I remember spending time with you at the college's International Center while you worked. I remember seeing how much the international students and your boss loved and appreciated you. I remember seeing almost every student that walked through the door greet you with a hug, and tell me how amazing you were. I was always proud that you were my grandmother.

I remember hearing a lot of Italian phrases come out of your mouth, and seeing a lot of interesting Italian-esque hand gestures. I never knew what you were saying, but I have a feeling if you said it in English, my jaw would have dropped to the floor.

I remember gambling with you and the aunts at the penny slot machines at the casino a few towns over. I only brought maybe $20 to play around with, but once that ran out, you and the aunts kept sticking extra money in my machine to keep me going. Between you and the aunts, I heard a lot more of those Italian phrases that night whenever you'd lose money.

I remember your smile when you held R, your first great-grand-child, for the first time. Even though you passed away when she was only two, she still remembers you. She's seen pictures, and I talk to her about you once in a while, but she remembers things I haven't even told her -- like one time I was talking about you to her but she wasn't sure which grandmother I was talking about, so she asked "what gramma? The one who used to sit over there in the blue chair?" (and she was pointing right where your blue recliner used to be). She remembers.

I remember being with you in the waiting room for one of your radiation appointments. There were several other men and women in the waiting room, and R (maybe a year old at the time) helped bring a smile to everyone's face.

I remember seeing you treat grampa differently when he was in the nursing home. I remember seeing you full of what I felt was regret and desparation. You wished that you loved grampa like you "should" have all these years, and you were trying to make up for it now, now that it was almost too late. You kissed him more. You hugged him more. You told him you loved him more. I loved seeing grampa's face light up when you'd kiss him or hold his hand. I loved seeing you and grampa like that during those weeks / months...there's something about an elderly couple holding hands, kissing, flirting, that is just so...amazing. You and grampa remind me to live in the moment; and to not wait until it's too late to express how I feel.

I remember finding you in bed, in a diabetic coma. At first, I thought you were snoring, but then I realized it was gurgling noises and you couldn't talk. You couldn't move. Your hands felt so cold and clammy, and your eyes. Your eyes just kept drifting, like you wanted to see what was going on but you couldn't focus on anything. I called my brother to come upstairs, and I called 911. Your blood sugar was down to 30. The EMT's gave you something and I watched you slowly come back. Your gurgling noises turned to moans, then to slurred sounds, then to talking. While in the diabetic coma, you were gurgling because you were trying to talk. You knew my brother and I were there, and you were trying to talk to us. Trying to ask for juice/soda to get your sugar up. You were even trying to yell at the EMT's to give you the IV in the other arm.

I remember visiting you at Aunt L's house for the last time. You were so weak and tired and in pain, but you seemed peaceful. You knew you were dieing, and you accepted it. You were ready. I am so thankful that I was able to see you and talk to you that one last time. I remember helping to move you on your bed, and I remember how difficult just doing that one thing was. You were so weak and heavy...moving you helped me understand and appreciate how much Aunt L and Uncle A did for you on a daily basis while you stayed with them, and how difficult it was.

I remember your funeral. Doing the reading at your funeral was the most difficult thing I have ever done in my life. Walking by your casket, standing in front of the entire church, trying to see the words through my tears, trying to read out loud while the entire church watched me cry. I knew my cousin A was there to take over if I couldn't finish, but I wanted to finish. For you. And even though it took a thousand times longer than it should have, I finished.

Five years, it seems like it was just yesterday. I miss so much you, and I'm sure I always will. Sometimes when I think about you, I cry. But more often then not, when I think of you lately, I smile. You were an amazing woman, and I am so lucky to have so many wonderful memories with you. I am a better person because of you, and I am so blessed that you were a part of my life. Thank you.

Love Always,
J.