When I lost my maternal grandmother, I blogged about finding my new normal. What I didn’t mention then was that my paternal grandmother was a big part of that. She was that link to her generation. I even remember her saying to me, on the porch during my Nana’s celebration of life, “I’m the last one left, Tabby.” Her stories and her strength were a big part of how I healed during that time.
Now? Well, now she’s gone too.
The Wednesday before her surgery she ventured out of the house to come see me at the bookstore. She bought herself a book to read during recovery. She was in a good mood. She loved the bookstore, talked about the weather, and seemed in good spirits.
Thursday morning she went in for surgery. It seemed to go well but complications came up. It was heartbreaking to know she was at the hospital without all of us, because of the pandemic. But I like to think she knew we were there in spirit. She passed this afternoon with two of her children by her side.
So now we get to try and find that new normal. I find myself asking what life looks like without that piece of me that has been there for almost 39 years. Honestly, I’m just not sure.
I know I’ll never look at an empty butter container without laughing again (she used them in place of Tupperware even when we gifted her Tupperware containers for Christmas). I know I’ll always feel a little pang of sadness when I color (her favorite pastime). I know Texas Hold ‘Em will be a little bittersweet for a while.
But I also know I’ll serve bread often. I’ll never kick someone, no matter how mad I get. I’ll think of wooden spoons as possible weapons. I’ll give my opinion when it’s asked for, no holds barred, and I’ll appreciate the simplicity of a freshly made bed. I’ll never pay $3 for something if I can get it for $1. I’ll remember random acts of kindness can go a long way, and I’ll enjoy sunshine sometimes because it’s good for the soul.
I’m a better person because of my family. I’m a better person because of my grandmother. I’ll draw strength from her memory and remember how she would hold her chin up and deal with things, because someone had to.
I love you, Gram, and I’ll miss you.
Thanks for reading. Sorry if it’s a little rambling. That’s the best I can do today.