I will never forget the smell of her pressed powder or the way her fingernails were always polished. I won't forget her laugh or how she would always sneak in an extra hug and a kiss when you were leaving.
She was a remarkable woman.
It's taken me a long, very long, time to compose myself enough to write this. I still think of her often and can't usually get through a memory without tears, so you'll have to forgive me for the way this may be written. For a long time, I dreamt of her. I'd hear her tell me that I needed to stop crying or she'd go away. I'd hear her tell my sister how much she loved her over and over again. I believe she was speaking to us.
Let me just start from the beginning.
She lived in a little red house the next town over from where we grew up. We'd go over for dinner on Sunday nights and as we walked to the door, Krissy and I swore we could hear the house shaking as our Grandpa would make his way to the recliner only to pretend he was sleeping. We'd run in, rush through our hellos with Gram and JUMP on his stomach.
"You brat and a half and three-quarters!" Every time.
If only we knew then how much we'd miss that and how much we wished we didn't rush through her hello. But that was just her. There was love in her home and that was all that mattered.
We'd race through our soup, because after all, that meant a ride on the barbershop chair in the basement. She'd try to hold conversation with Gramps and my parents, but always so quickly he'd snap that she was going to make him lose. He had two granddaughters that he loved more than anything. No matter how hard he tried, something tells me he'd never win!
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| Us with Grandpa after one of our dance recitals |
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| The last time they were pictured together |
And then our Grandpa passed away. I was only in first grade when he passed and to this day it amazes me how much I remember of him. I must have known at that young age how important it was to remember him. So I did. I etched his face into my memory forever.
She would tell us stories of him often. How they met, how persistent he was in sending postcards from Connecticut to Rhode Island, how he didn't listen when she told him to get lost. She would tell us stories about how she waited for him to come home from the war, how they began their life in a 3-family house, upstairs from her inlaws. She told us how she knew they needed a car, and against his wishes landed a job at Scovill's working second shift. Oh how mad she said he was when he picked her up. "Fine, but you are only working until we can afford the car. Then you are quitting".
She retired from Scovill's.
Oh she would laugh. The greatest laugh. And it never mattered how many times we asked for the story or how many times she told it. It was always our favorite and she'd always end the story with tears in her eyes. Her love for him never faded. She believed that they were soul-mates and you only get one in a lifetime. She believed that he was waiting for her in heaven and so she waited for the time that she would be reunited with him. All of the suitors that followed him never had a shot. She was a one-man woman.
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| Us with Gram - 2008 |
If I could pinpoint the best advice she ever gave us it would be to "Be Nice". Such a simple statement, but if you start to tear away all the layers it becomes one of the most powerful statements in the world. Be nice with how you treat others. Be nice with how you treat yourself. Be nice to your husband. Be nice to strangers. Be nice to family. It didn't matter who was fighting, it didn't even matter if the fight was a result of defending HER. She never wanted to see us acting in malice because that was just ugly. And we had too much class for that.
I would attest 100% of my crafting ability to her. She was always teaching us something. How to sew, how to knit or crochet, how to make flowers from masking tape. She was so talented. She could whip up an apple pie like no one's business and never got mad if we accidentally poured in too much sugar. That was just her. I could ask her everyday how to do the same damn stitch and she would never get mad. And when I told her I KNEW that I wanted that scarf to be that big and it was intentional, she just chuckled and said ok. The laughter grew a little bigger when weeks later she asked how it was going and I told her I had to rip the stitches out because it was just too big.
God we loved her.
The best part about my job at the time was
And then mom called.
"Millie. I just wanted to tell you that Gram is in the hospital. She had a heart attack last night. We don't know much, but we'll be leaving soon."
I remember dropping the phone and putting my head down into my hands and just loosing it. Crying in public is something I never do. But this time, it just didn't matter. I wasn't ready for this and somehow I knew that this was going to change everything.
That was probably the longest drive to CT we've ever had to make. I remember staring out the window and praying to any God that would listen to please...please just let us get there before she left us.
My sister was able to get in to see her that day. She held her hand and made sure she didn't feel alone. She told her that we were on our way and she just needed to listen to the doctors so she would get better and come home. I will forever be indebted to Krissy for that.
When we saw her on Saturday everything had changed. The doctors said her body was reacted badly to the medication and that they believed she had a stroke. They said that she was sedated for her own safety and we had to be silent if we went into the room to prevent her from getting too excited and increasing her blood pressure.
She looked so small in that hospital bed. It was probably the first time I hadn't seen her with her stylish glasses and lipstick. She looked so helpless and so sad.
Jared took us back later that night. We needed more time with her. We needed her to know that we were there and that we loved her. We needed her to know that she wasn't alone.
I don't remember the names of the nurses on call that night, but I believe they were meant to be there at that exact moment on that exact rotation.
The nurse walked by and saw Krissy and I arm in arm, hovering silently over Gram's big hospital bed. He came in and asked if we wanted a chair. He reassured us that it was ok to talk to her, to hold her hand, that he would be monitoring the machines. That we couldn't stay that long, but it was ok.
We said, "hi Gram", and her little heart rate jumped immediately. She couldn't open her eyes or speak to us, but she knew we were there.
Krissy and I both respected the need for each other to have a private moment. I won't go into what we told Gram....I don't even know if I could bare to pour all of that out. What I will share is that unknowingly we both uttered a version of the same phrase to her: "It's ok Gram. We understand. We know you want to be with grandpa and it's ok."
We both sat there silently for a moment, and I leaned over to Krissy and said "is Gram crying?". And she was. The most innocent and delicate tear had formed in the outer corner of her eye. We were told earlier in the evening that she was unresponsive to all commands. But there she was, in some of her last moments fighting. Because she knew we loved her and she knew she wanted us to know that she loved us too.
About an hour after we left that night, the doctor said she suffered a fairly large episode and there was no coming back from it and it was just the machines keeping her alive now. Krissy and I believe that she was waiting for us. And when she knew we were there and that we would be ok, we believe she left us.
People say that its the fight in you that keeps you alive. In that moment, we believe Gram finally stopped fighting. They turned the machines off the following morning.
Jared told us that she made him promise her on Christmas Eve that he would take care of us when she died. Just a month before her passing she knew it was coming and she needed to know that we would be ok. She loved him as her grandson and she trusted that he would fulfill his promise.
Gram passed away 13 days following Grandpa's 25th death anniversary. She was 92 years old. When we buried her in the plot she prepaid for 25 years prior...so they could be buried next to each other....there was a single rose in a baggy left on his grave. We knew it was from her. She loved that man until the day she died. I hope they're having a rip-roaring time up there!
Losing someone you love is never easy. You never feel like you've had enough time with them. You always wish for one more hug, one more story, one more 'I Love You'. Our life has been filled with so much joy. She was a remarkable women and one that continues to be missed every single day. I will never forget the stories or the lessons she tried to teach us. I will never forget how beautiful she was, inside and out.
Dan quoted 'The Bucket List' the night she passed, reminding me of the two most important questions:
"Have you found joy in your life? Have you brought joy to others"
Anyone that knew Gram felt her love and the joy she brought into their life. She made life more colorful. She lived to see both of her sons find love, she experienced the new joy of two granddaughters, she watched as her only granddaughters found their love and got married, and shared the joy in the birth of her first great-granddaughter.
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| Gram at our wedding, October 2012 (My bouquet wrapped in the pearls Grandpa gave her on their wedding day) |
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| Christmas 2012 - Gram, Maddie, Jared, Krissy |
When the paramedics came to pick her up on the night she had a heart attack, she changed out of her nightclothes, made her bed and put on lipstick. She wouldn't dare leave the house without being presentable.
She was amazing. I think everyone can afford to be a little more like her.
Jared honored Gram during her funeral, and included the lyrics from Tough People Do, by Trace Adkins. It couldn't have been more perfect.
I love you Gram. You continue to shape the women we are becoming. We miss you every day.
