Well, today saw the biggest snowfall since February of 2011,
and I did not have a snow day. We did
however, have an early dismissal, which was a welcome relief from classes full
of squirrelly teenagers who were practically crawling the walls to get out.
Today, I had planned on going to visit my grandma after
school, and despite the snow, I carried out my plans. My grandma still lives in the house where she
raised her six daughters, and where she has lived alone since the death of my
grandfather almost twenty years ago. In
November, she turned 89 years old, and for the past several months, she has had
caregivers staying at her home to help her with the basics – cooking, cleaning,
etc.
My grandmother is and always has been a beautiful, brilliant
woman. When she was in her early
forties, with six children, she earned a PhD in English literature from Loyola
University. During all of my years in
school, she was a source of encouragement and inspiration. I would tell her about what I was reading or
writing, or what courses I was taking.
She would share stories from her years at Loyola – from squeezing into
desks when she was eight months pregnant, or rocking her dissertation on Joseph
Conrad’s Heart of Darkness. (Of course, she didn’t say she “rocked it” –
but I know she did)
It is not just my grandmother’s scholarly career that has
fascinated me over the years. I could
never get enough of her stories from her youth.
There were the parties on boats with young scholars from the University
of Chicago, and the colorful stories about her uncles, Bert and Dennis, who
loved her dearly and helped her widowed mother raise her. Then there was her romance with my grandfather
– a naval officer during WWII – that is the stuff of a Nicholas Sparks
novel. They met when she accompanied a
friend who was going to break off an engagement with another Naval
officer. After their brief meeting, my
grandparents fell in love through lengthy letters, and as she has always said
of him “Oh yes, I chased him until he caught me.”
They say our parents’ past is integral to our present, and I
feel the same way about our grandparents.
I’m so lucky that I have had my grandmother for so much of my life, and
that there are elements of my personality I can trace to her. Her literary mind, her classic sense of
style, and her feisty Irish spark are all characteristics I admire, emulate,
and at times have to repress in myself (I’m referring mostly to my tendency
toward a sharp tongue and strong opinions).
Over the past couple of years, my grandma has begun to
struggle with memory and mobility. I
know that at times I subconsciously avoid visits, because it is difficult to
see such a vibrant woman ravaged by the inevitable passage of time and the
effects of age. Today, though, was a
good day. As I came to the door, she was
radiant in a top the exact color of her clear blue eyes, her always red hair (albeit
different shades over the years) was perfectly combed, and on her lips a
perfect shade of red lipstick. She
wanted to make me food, but I assured her coffee was just fine, and we talked
for well over an hour. While at times,
the faltering of her mind was evident, there were other moments where her edges
were just as razor sharp as they have always been. We had what I can only describe as a lovely
afternoon, and she was so appreciative of my visit, it has renewed my
commitment to see her more often – to take advantage of the time I have with
this woman who has been so influential in my life and the lives of my family.
Watching our loved ones age is both a blessing and a
curse. While it is difficult to see them
struggle with the challenges of growing old, having more time with them is a
gift. I am awed by the strength of my
mom, her sisters, and their husbands as they have helped my grandmother ease
into this time in her life, and today inspired me to acknowledge and accept her
just as she is – beautiful, brilliant, and aging with all the grace and class
with which she has lived her life.
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