For Vivian

For the first time in awhile, I took my family to church. It was the 2nd Advent Sunday this year and I started by proposing it to my seven-year-old, Emma. Once Emma was on board, I had her work on her Grandmother. Once Grandma was on board, we all influenced the men; my Dad, my husband and son crashed down like dominos and before too long we were sitting in our ‘family pew’.

As I was sitting there, pleased at myself for conspiring to bring our family to church instead of letting yet another lazy Sunday roll by, I was struck by how much I missed my own Grandmother. I looked down the pew at my children, my husband and my parents and I remembered coming to church throughout my life and sitting in that same pew with my Grandmother. That was where I could find her every Sunday. I would come in from the back and see her; her hair in a perfect coif of silver curls. She was tiny, only 4’ 11” tall and yet she was bigger than life to me. As I looked at my family that Sunday, I found the memory of my Grandma overwhelmingly poignant. Christmas was always one of her favorite times of year. I find it fitting to write about her during this time of year.

To say that my grandmother was a large part of my life would be like saying that Mount Everest is a nice little hill. She was there for me throughout my life; from the moment I was born until the moment she died. I have so many memories of her. When I was a child, my grandparents were with us nearly constantly. Through thick and thin, she was with me; with us – her family. She cared for me when I was ill because my mother was a new teacher and because my Grandmother never would have wanted it any other way. She would take me to after-school events or pick me up from church activities or go with me anywhere I needed to go. She was like my third parent.

My sister and I stayed nearly every weekend with my grandparents when we were little, because they wanted it so and we loved being there. I remember watching Saturday Morning Cartoons while the sounds and smells of my Grandmother’s cooking would fill the house. For our birthdays, my Grandmother would take us, separately, to the toy store and say, “Pick out whatever you want”. She never said no to anything we asked for on our special shopping trip. We went camping with my grandparents all the time in the summer; we would take golf cart rides around the campground, make Jiffy Pop and wish to never return to our regular lives from camping.

When my Grandfather died rather suddenly, it was my Grandmother that consoled me. I came in from school and found the whole house crying quietly, in a very somber mood. I have always been the most emotional of my family and when my mother told me of my Grandfather’s passing, I wailed and ran to my room. My grandmother quietly climbed the stairs and sat on my bed with me while I let out anguished cries for my Grandfather. She stroked my back and told me it would be ok. This woman, this little rock, she had just lost her husband of 45 years and she was consoling her 9-year-old granddaughter.

Our relationship really evolved as I matured and I looked forward to seeing her but I don’t believe I ever matched her enthusiasm. When I looked at my Grandmother, I saw absolute love looking back at me. She looked at me like I had dropped out of heaven into her lap. She lived just down the block from my parents and would literally come to our house within five minutes of my arrival as an adult coming in for a weekend visit. She was always brimming over with excitement to see me and hear the latest from my life.

When I was 25 years old, and she was 83, we discovered that she was in the middle stages of Alzheimers Disease. I had no idea what would take place after that diagnosis. I had never been exposed to this devastating disease; and I had no clue what to expect. Selfishly, I was engrossed in my own life at the time; something that I regret now more than anything. I didn’t visit her as much as I should have; I didn’t do as much as she would have done if the roles had been reversed. I spent time with her, I cherished our conversations and our relationship, but not with the passion that she did; I was too busy with me to think about her as much. I regret that my children didn’t meet her, that my husband never really knew her; she was too ill to speak when he met her. We lost so much time with her; she lived six years after her diagnosis but she was gone long before that. Only in the years since her death have I come to appreciate how much she meant to me and what an influence she was on my life.

And now, so many years later, I remember all the fun we had at the holidays. My grandmother loved singing Christmas hymns; I love singing them just as much but she knew each one by heart and would hum them or sing them as she worked around the house. She could play the piano only by ear and would sing Christmas carols at our house every year, plunking away at the keys and my sister and I would join in. She always cooked Christmas dinner; either at her house or later at ours; no matter what time we started the cooking, she was there to help with all of it, from beginning until the last fork was put back away. And then there was church; where she was a constant image sitting in that pew, six or seven from the back, right in the aisle so she could see clearly. She would be there, saving seats for us, smelling like Wind Song, Oil of Olay and other wonderful Grandma smells. She would sit with her arm around me or holding my hand and I felt completely loved.

And as I looked at my daughter and my son, two weeks ago, sitting in that same pew; I know that I look at them the way my Grandmother looked at me and I thank her for that in my prayers. I hope that she knows, wherever she is now, that she has lived on in me and that I am cherishing each Christmas as she did; with my family around me.