Farewell, Connie...

A month ago today, my grandmother passed away.  She had stage 4 lung cancer, which she fought tenaciously for over 18 months, and this was the third time she was diagnosed with cancer over a 30+ year span (her first – breast cancer – came in her early 40’s).  I could use a huge number of sometimes conflicting terms to describe her: smart, tough, determined, devious, loving, delusional.  She left me with a love of cooking and a head for numbers.  She was 76 years old.  

Despite all of the headaches she would give me, all of the trouble she’d stir up in the family, all the inappropriate things she’d say, I miss her more than words can describe.  But it’s been weighing heavily on my heart for all of these weeks, so I wanted to share some stories about my grandma that I will always remember her by.  And, before I start: these aren’t always flattering, but they are all classic Connie.  If there’s one thing I’ve learned from her, it’s to accept people for who they are, not who you want them to be; she wasn’t always (ever?) a saint, but she always tried to be the best grandmother she could.

I apologize in advance for any racism in these stories.  I also apologize for being a terrible writer, because I’m sure that’s going to make this hard to read (for all zero(?) of you reading this).

1.   When my parents first got married, my grandparents both didn’t like my dad because A) he was Irish and B) he was Irish (my mother’s family is Italian).  Over the years, though, my dad gradually grew to become grandma’s favorite (not surprising; he’s everyone’s favorite).  Now let’s fast forward about 30 years.  I drove out to grandma’s house with my sister for Sunday evening dinner.  As we were finishing up, my sister casually asks, “Hey grandma, why is it that you’re always so much nicer to dad than you are to mom?”  Her response?  “Well, if I don’t treat your dad well, he’ll bring your mother back home.”  That’s pretty fucked up.

2.       For my grandparent’s anniversary one year, my parents decided to take them out for a fancy dinner.  I was in college, but was commuting to school from home.  I didn’t have anything to do that particular Saturday night (commuting to college kind of sucks if you want a social life), so I decided to hitch a ride and come with.  At dinner, grandma ponders aloud (paraphrased), “What kind of loser 20-year-old has nothing better to do on a Saturday night than eat dinner with his grandmother?” This kind of loser, grandma.  Thanks for the pick-me-up!

   

3.      I start dating the woman I eventually marry and, being the family man that I am, I feel that it’s important for her to meet my extended family very early on.  Part of this ritual involves a Sunday dinner at grandma’s house.  Dinner itself was phenomenal – I helped grandma prepare a sauce and manicotti.  As we’re sitting around the table, grandma and grandpa are reminiscing with my parents about the early years of mom and dad’s marriage.  I’m not sure how the conversation veered this way, but they were talking about how mom and dad were always very generous, even though they never had any money.  That’s when grandma let out this winning statement: “Your parents spent every dime they had as fast as they earned it.  They were real ‘n-word rich.’”  At this point, she raises one had to the side of her mouth, as if she was leaning in to tell you a secret.  To counteract any volume dampening effect her hand might have, she proceeded to talk 5 times as loud: “The ‘N’ stands for ‘Nigger!’”  Keep in mind, for the duration of this conversation, she was sitting next to my new girlfriend at the time, who I was very much in love with, and who she was just meeting for the first time.

4.       An aside on my wife: she generally goes by Sam, which is obviously short for Samantha.  So, after we get engaged, when I’m taking with grandma about the wedding prep, she lays this amazing number on me: “How is Samantha doing?  I know she goes by Sam, but that’s a man’s name, and grandma can’t deal with that.  You may not have known this, but grandma is very homophobic.”  Apparently you were, grandma.  Oh, another fun fact you may have gleaned from this: grandma LOVED talking in the third person.

For all of the ridiculous and inappropriate comments like the above, there were dozens of counteracting moments where she was the greatest grandma I could ever ask for: the hugs she would always sneak in, the way she taught me to cook like a pro, the way she’d send me a card for the stupidest of holidays (no 20+ year old man needs a Halloween card, grandma – but it did make me smile).

I certainly have no regrets in my relationship with grandma.  I always tried to be the man she could be proud of.  I was the best grandson I knew how to be, and I’m glad I spent as much time with you as I did, even if you didn’t always appreciate it.  My only regret is that my son and daughter won’t know you like I did.  They’ll never know they smells and tastes of your kitchen or the heartiness of your laugh.  But I will tell them all about you.

I do not fool myself into thinking that you still exist somewhere.  So I won’t spout some bullshit about, “Wherever you are, grandma….”  I no longer have a grandma to talk to, and for that, I am deeply saddened.  But I can only hope that while grandma was here, she enjoyed her time with me as much as I enjoyed my time with her.