My Grammy died.
Gah, just typing those words is a punch in the gut.
She was an amazing lady. She and my Grampy were once in the newspaper for walking everywhere in their small town. She would cut out coupons and articles in her local paper and lovingly pen a note to my mom, the recipient. I can’t remember a time she didn’t have a Reader’s Digest subscription.
My Grammy loved my Grampy. She met him when she was 12 and he was dashing 16-year old merry-go-round operator at the seaside town in Rhode Island, where she lived with her adopted parents and 8 brothers. They were married on a snowy day in 1945, witnessed by my Grammy’s friend and a serviceman, a stranger, who stood in for my Grampy’s brother who was unable to get through the snow storm to be the best man. We still don’t know who that stranger was.
Grammy and Grampy lived about a gagillion hours away from us (probably closer to 3 hours), but would always pack us a paper bag of snacks and $1, “for the road”. When I was a kid, I thought they had won the lottery. Now that I’m an adult, I know it was just their generous spirits.
Grammy played a mean game of Scrabble. Never in my 38 years did I beat her, try as I might. When I went back east to visit her, playing Scrabble was high on my list. We were there to celebrate her 91st birthday, and I knew it would likely be the last time I would see her on Earth. Despite needing a walker, her paper thin skin, and slips in her memory, she still won. Leaning over a Scrabble board is how I will always remember her.
She had a servant’s heart. I remember one time, when I was about 9, playing in the sunshine while my mom and Grammy played Scrabble. When my mom went to get up, Grammy immediately pulled her arm and said, “No, no, Nan! Sit! I’ll do whatever you need.”
My mom smiled and said, “thanks, Mom, but I have to go to the bathroom.”
I swear, if she could have, Grammy would have.
Everyone called her Grammy. Everyone. At my cousins wedding in 2004, there was a line out the door to dance with Grammy. She was filled with such life. Her heart was big enough to be everyone’s Grammy. But she truly was mine.
What I’m trying to say is that when this life is done, and you take your last breath, your loved ones will be thinking about the role you played in their lives, not of the stuff you owned.
Grammy lived a simple life. Born in 1924, she grew up in a time of struggle. She married a man fighting in WWII, not knowing if he would come home. Some people take that fear of the unknown and collect. They collect canned goods, in case there is no money to buy food. They collect receipts, in case the IRS comes knocking. They collect trinkets, in case their memory fails and they forget something that happened.
The important things will forever be etched in your mind, and in your heart.
Be bold and confident in your ability to remember your past. Boldness comes from simplicity.
My Grammy was bold.
BE BOLD.