Grandma

Grandma’s, nana’s, noni’s, bubby’s, big mommies, gamma, big ma’s, abuelita’s. I called mine Ma, she was my mothers mother. My mother called her Ma, so my brother and I called her Ma. When she died I cried for a week and was sad for a year. I can still see her gap toothed smile, Coleman has it. Christmas dinners or Thanksgiving dinners or whatever, looking around the room at the collection of misfits and over and under achieivers that was my family, there was Ma, sitting quietly, observing, sipping ever so daintily from her shot glass half full of Christian Brothers Brandy. Listening mostly, interjecting occasionally, laughing heartily. And she was funny. Cracked me up. I miss her; she’s been gone a long time, over 15 years, maybe closer to 20, but not quite.

My other grandmother, my father’s mother died a couple of weeks ago. I didn’t know her. One of the many tragedies of divorce. She died alone, in a nursing home. I didn’t even know where it was. It wasn’t Alzheimers, she was just sad. She birthed and buried all three of her children. First she lost her husband of I don’t know how many years, grandpa Sam. He lost part of his arm in World War 2. He was always in bed sick and he smoked foul cigars. But at the end of every visit, he would call my brother and me into his room, take out his wallet, hold the wallet against his body with his nub and hand us cash with his good hand. I believe to this day it’s why I’m not squeamish around handicapped people, I always think they’ll hand me money.

Just a couple of years after grandpa Sam died, grandma lost her youngest, Sam Jr., and then just 4 years later my father. I was about 14. About 5 years ago Her last remaining child, my Aunt Amy, a nurse, woke up one morning with a pain in her shoulder, after a couple of days, she decided to have it checked out. She was informed she had cancer, in her lungs and stomach and liver. She was given a few weeks to live, it didn't take that long. That was the last straw for my grandmother, she checked out. She was past crying, past pain, past grief, her mind was wherever her children were; she was just waiting for her body to catch up.

My Aunt Amy’s 2 daughters, my younger cousins took on the task of looking after my grandmothers empty shell. They tried keeping her in her home, it became too much. Nursing home was the only option. I can’t even tell you how long she’d been there, 3 years, 4 years, 2 years; I don’t know and never bothered to ask. So needless to say I never visited. So when the body of Cara Lee Williams, age 83, joined her spirit and her family, it was without fanfare. My cousins had her cremated and buried and then called us a couple of weeks later. At first of course I was indignant, after all I’m #1 grand, how many baby pictures they got, a couple, maybe a page. I got volumes a through z. I got over my indignation.

There was a small memorial service. I read the eulogy. Just as I was leaving the podium, the pastor asked me to say a few words about my grandmother. I hadn’t prepared anything. Thank God I’m a ham at heart. I spoke of the time we took a 24 hour bus trip to Dothan, Alabama for a family reunion. If the United States were a body, Dothan would be the armpit. I remembered how proud she was to have her oldest son's children with her. She often introduced me as Steven, my father's name, sometimes she corrected herself, sometimes not. The last time I saw her, at my Aunt Amy's funeral, I was Steven. I remembered how dignified and proud and fashionable she was, I also remembered how incredibly messy she was. Her home was a disaster area, clothes everywhere, but when she stepped out of her house, she was as clean as the board of health.
That made people laught, the pastor thanked me for bringing levity to the occasion. Levity is my middle name.

I want Coleman to get to know his grandma’s. I wish Roz’s family were closer. Did I say that? I’m kidding, I adore them; I never deny the opportunity to visit them in DC, no matter how brief. My mom just turned 60; we had a surprise birthday party for her this past weekend. We’ve had a very scary fortunate year. Mom is as recovered as recovered can be. With almost no remnants of the stroke she had the day before Coleman’s christening. On the days when his parents are stupid, clueless, unhip buffoons, hopefully Coleman will have his grandmothers to look to for comfort.