Grandma Claire

 

This photograph hangs in the hallway of my grandparents' house. This is me with my grandmother, in 1979 or 1980. I'm just a wee thing and my grandma was maybe 40 years old - close to the age I am now.

 

She died last night, from complications from a virus that's going around. My relationship with my grandmother is complicated. As I wrap my mind around her death, I find that I'm having a hard time landing on an emotion. I am sad that she's gone, sad that my grandfather is now alone; but we weren't close for much of my life. Traumatic events in my childhood and attitudes (both mine and theirs) throughout my life have broken our emotional connection.

 

In 2014 my mom and I drove to Sacramento to visit my grandparents. We stayed with them for a week and in that time I saw a side of Grandma that I had never even glimpsed before: she could be funny, and generous. She wasn't always kind, to me or to others. She's responsible for significant emotional damage to many of us in the family, but my last visit with her showed me that people aren't always one thing.

 

Here's a (terribly blurry) picture of the two of us from that trip; she rolled her eyes when I snapped the photo because she didn't want me to take it, but afterward she hugged me tighter than I ever remember her hugging me.

 

 

 

During my visit with her and my grandfather, I took the opportunity to ask them about their early life. I heard about some experiences Grandma had as a girl, some of her hurts and fears. I heard of the courtship of my grandparents, and I saw the loving look that passed between them as they reminisced on fifty-one years of marriage. I got some advice from them on how to be a married person.

 

Here is a photo of the two of them at a dance (they did square dancing!) - I forget the year she mentioned, sometime in the 60s.

 

 

 

To say that I didn't know her heart well would be something of an understatement. The few pictures I have of her as a younger woman show someone laughing, beautiful, and happy. I remember her that way sometimes, on the rare occasion when I had time with her alone; she would sew and I would sit at her side waiting for the chance to bring her a piece of fabric, or throw away her bits of string for her, or dump her ashtray, or fetch her coffee. She would hum little tunes that I can still hear in my head.

 

Here she is a year ago with my grandfather; he had been in the hospital with a procedure and she took him for a little walk. I love the smiles on their faces, their clasped hands.

 

 

Over the course of my life this woman has caused so much pain for my family. I didn't always understand her actions, or her motivations, and for most of my life I had my mind made up that I needed to keep my distance from her. When I saw her last she showed me a file she had of the cards and letters I sent her. She had every single letter I ever wrote her, including pictures and notes from my earliest childhood. She saved them all, for all these years.

 

I may not have understood her, but I know she loved me and that is what I am choosing to focus on.

Rest in peace, Claire.