“Oh John, it is not,” she said as she waved her hand in disapproval towards her husband as she always did. Her tone was a conjunction of affection and annoyance. As he mumbled something about malarchy, she loudly slid her chair out from the table and got up, walking towards the pistachio-green freezer.
“Anyone want ice cream pie? Cookies? Millie next door made you all an ice cream pie and someone needs to eat it!”
That was my grandmother. Tired from years of being a stoic, hard-working mother. Calloused from being married to a true Irishman. Seemingly happy as a grandmother that could shovel food in the general direction of her grandkids.
My grandmother fit perfectly with their house in the countryside. Nestled in an older suburb of Philadelphia, tucked away in Amish country where high schools had sprawling campuses adjacent to horse farms. Life was slow in Lansdale, PA and, well, that fit my grandmother. She was unconcerned with the Bustle of life in her later years. Perhaps it was from living in Philadelphia her whole life.
As a child visiting his grandparents, I remember more in colors, smells and other sensations. Not uncommon to be sure, but my grandmother was hairspray. My grandmother was velour. She was Valmints and a dusty-rose armchair. To me her hair was yellow as a crayon and her overall character was that of Big Bird…though I’m not really sure why. Her house was breathy and open, with warm summer winds passing through the curtains. Every appliance was a icon of design, dating back to a time I only read about in Scott Fordsman textbooks. In the middle of the night, my trips to get water from the bathroom disturbed the chorus of floorboards, releasing a song of the years.
She loved the beach, and didn’t mind just sitting. I can remember always just staring at her, wondering how she was so darn good at sitting still (especially compared to my grandfather who was a bundle of energy) Perhaps many children go through this with their elderly relatives, but I was in awe. I was envious of this amazing talent (even being relatively sedate as a child myself)…and I think I’ve become my grandmother now in a way. To us the beach is not frying out in the sun or splashing in the waves. It’s watching beauty unfold before you and just taking it all in, recharging your soul. I can remember being at the shore and asking my grandmother how I looked as I got dressed to go out on the boardwalk. Apparently as a six year old, style was important to me, and my grandmother was the fashion police that needed appealing to. I always looked to my grandmother for approval for some reason.
In the six years since I graduated from high school, I’ve grown closer to my grandmother. I’ve moved out of the blissful haze of childish immaturity and seen her for who she is. As she moved away from Pennsylvania and settled in with my parents, I saw her change. The loss of my grandfather hollowed her. The light in her eyes was gone, instead replaced with fear of the unknown. I guess this is the time when I learned the most from my grandmother, at her most vulnerable.
My grandmother taught me more than just how to sit still. She taught me how to share (cheerios, most of all). She taught me how to be a silent helper, how to swallow one’s pride and help carry the load. She taught me that religion is like your right arm, and not to betray your composure by wearing your emotion on your sleeve. She was the last connection to my heritage, and someone that I wanted my future children to meet desperately.
Tomorrow I head back to Amish country. Though the fields are long-since frozen and the horses all put back in their stables, that same breathy wind of childhood awe and innocence still moves the trees. She’ll be laid to rest with my grandfather and other relatives, to let the world pass them by for good. Tomorrow I say goodbye to my grandmother for the last time. But I’m not worried about her, with her awesome talent of being still and taking in life. I’m worried about me, and whether I made the most of my time with her.
So come my wedding day next October, as I’m getting dressed, I’ll look up and wonder if she approves of my outfit. Rest peacefully, Mom.
