Dear Vivian,
I write this, your “three month letter” on what would have been your great-grandmother’s 86th birthday. Life comes full circle, and just before you were a glimmer in our eyes, she was whisked away from this earth. It will be a year this Tuesday since her passing. The year has moved at lightning speed, and I can’t believe we’re standing at this place, celebrating your quarter of a year on this earth and remembering a woman who left before your arrival. My heart swirls with the emotions of a proud mama and a mourning granddaughter, who bid farewell to her last surviving grandparent before she could proudly show off her own offspring.
I write this, your “three month letter” on what would have been your great-grandmother’s 86th birthday. Life comes full circle, and just before you were a glimmer in our eyes, she was whisked away from this earth. It will be a year this Tuesday since her passing. The year has moved at lightning speed, and I can’t believe we’re standing at this place, celebrating your quarter of a year on this earth and remembering a woman who left before your arrival. My heart swirls with the emotions of a proud mama and a mourning granddaughter, who bid farewell to her last surviving grandparent before she could proudly show off her own offspring.
My Vivian, I’m not
sure what you would have thought of her if she would’ve lived long enough for
you to get to know her. She was a feisty woman who spared no spunkiness to
those around her. She collected owls,
shot glasses, and Elvis memorabilia for many years. Before my time it was salt
and pepper shakers. She wore leather pants into her sixties, loved wrasslin’
(wrestling), and drank spiked egg nog every holiday season, stopping only in
recent years. She cussed like a sailor, was honest to a fault, and smoked like
a freight train until she was eighty. She had candy stashed all throughout her
house, and she loved little pecan wheels, powdered doughnuts, black coffee, and
had a very limited list of foods that she would eat. I linger near the packaged
sweets on my trips to the grocery store, remembering her penchant for these
little goodies. But oh, she had her good qualities too. I didn’t realize how
much of an impact this quirky woman had on my life until she ceased to be in
it.
One of the biggest lessons she demonstrated, I’ve realized, was her incredibly strong work ethic. Not a day went by where Grandmother wasn’t washing clothes and folding her thread-bare towels neatly, vacuuming with her threatening wet vac, or scrubbing the floors until they shone. All of this Grandma did with a hip that had been replaced twice, always causing her discomfort after her irreversible injury as a toddler. In her lifetime she supported herself and five children on the salary of sometimes a waitress, a restaurant manager, even cleaning houses for other people. She proudly purchased her own home sometime in the sixties, a little white-sided home on a corner lot in the South End. I remember those days sitting out on the front porch, and the laundry that she always had out on the line in the backyard.
Your great-grandmother took care of me at least three times a week before my kindergarten days, Vivi. Poppy was in the fire department then, and Grammy went back to work a mere six weeks after my birth, so Grandma took care of me on the days that Poppy was at work. I remember days of bacon grits, Nestle powdered chocolate in its tin for chocolate milk, and Chips Ahoy Chocolate Chip Cookies for snacks. Grandma taught me how to play Greedy, Phase Ten and Rummy. We played Greedy for quarters, and don’t think that she’d let me win, Vivi. Oh no. She hated losing, and we each learned to watch her keep score, just to make sure she added the scores correctly.
Grandma was fiercely independent. Never relying on a man or anyone else, she managed to pay off her house, pay all of her monthly bills and still offer me gas money (which I refused to take) on the occasions that I took her to her doctor’s appointments.
Your great-grandmother was stubborn, and to a fault at that. I like to think that the stubbornness diffuses with each generation. Your grandmother is slightly less stubborn than her mother, and I’m less stubborn than her. Lord help your daddy and me if the system fails and you end up to be a feisty little girl. I’m not prepared to deal with that just yet. But it was so funny to watch your great-grandmother and grandmother interact. I spent a great deal of time snickering to myself at their irritation towards one another, neither realizing just how stubborn they each were being. Grandmother’s final days were no different, and she and your grandmother bickered over little, pointless things, eventually ending in an exasperated sigh and then laughter.
One of the biggest lessons she demonstrated, I’ve realized, was her incredibly strong work ethic. Not a day went by where Grandmother wasn’t washing clothes and folding her thread-bare towels neatly, vacuuming with her threatening wet vac, or scrubbing the floors until they shone. All of this Grandma did with a hip that had been replaced twice, always causing her discomfort after her irreversible injury as a toddler. In her lifetime she supported herself and five children on the salary of sometimes a waitress, a restaurant manager, even cleaning houses for other people. She proudly purchased her own home sometime in the sixties, a little white-sided home on a corner lot in the South End. I remember those days sitting out on the front porch, and the laundry that she always had out on the line in the backyard.
Your great-grandmother took care of me at least three times a week before my kindergarten days, Vivi. Poppy was in the fire department then, and Grammy went back to work a mere six weeks after my birth, so Grandma took care of me on the days that Poppy was at work. I remember days of bacon grits, Nestle powdered chocolate in its tin for chocolate milk, and Chips Ahoy Chocolate Chip Cookies for snacks. Grandma taught me how to play Greedy, Phase Ten and Rummy. We played Greedy for quarters, and don’t think that she’d let me win, Vivi. Oh no. She hated losing, and we each learned to watch her keep score, just to make sure she added the scores correctly.
Grandma was fiercely independent. Never relying on a man or anyone else, she managed to pay off her house, pay all of her monthly bills and still offer me gas money (which I refused to take) on the occasions that I took her to her doctor’s appointments.
Your great-grandmother was stubborn, and to a fault at that. I like to think that the stubbornness diffuses with each generation. Your grandmother is slightly less stubborn than her mother, and I’m less stubborn than her. Lord help your daddy and me if the system fails and you end up to be a feisty little girl. I’m not prepared to deal with that just yet. But it was so funny to watch your great-grandmother and grandmother interact. I spent a great deal of time snickering to myself at their irritation towards one another, neither realizing just how stubborn they each were being. Grandmother’s final days were no different, and she and your grandmother bickered over little, pointless things, eventually ending in an exasperated sigh and then laughter.
It was just a year and two weeks ago that your
great-grandmother’s gastric cancer was discovered and diagnosed. Grandmother
had occasionally been to the hospital in recent years, but when I saw her
before a mere few days before the “C” word was introduced, I knew something was
different this time. A week after we learned of her diagnosis, Grandmother had
surgery to remove the cancer. Doctors told her it was risky, but that, if
successful, the cancer would likely be entirely removed. On the eve of her
surgery the family surrounded her bedside. She looked frail and was choking
from time to time, a symptom of her cancer, but her stubbornness was not muted.
I distinctly remember her declaration that she hated yogurt, in spite of never
trying it. I’m shaking my head now as I recall that memory.
The next morning my regular Saturday run began at 6am. I woke up at 4:45a to go to the hospital and see her one last time before surgery. Since I had to leave early, I got a minute or two alone with her once they’d put her i.v. in. She told me she was nervous, and I told her I loved her and that she’d be fine. It was our last exchange of words.
The surgery was successful, and Grandmother’s doctors were pleased. We went on to quietly celebrate your Grammy’s birthday that well, and three days later it was Grandmother’s 85th birthday. She wasn’t awake yet, but we were hopeful since she had begun responding to questions with the shaking of her head.
The next morning my regular Saturday run began at 6am. I woke up at 4:45a to go to the hospital and see her one last time before surgery. Since I had to leave early, I got a minute or two alone with her once they’d put her i.v. in. She told me she was nervous, and I told her I loved her and that she’d be fine. It was our last exchange of words.
The surgery was successful, and Grandmother’s doctors were pleased. We went on to quietly celebrate your Grammy’s birthday that well, and three days later it was Grandmother’s 85th birthday. She wasn’t awake yet, but we were hopeful since she had begun responding to questions with the shaking of her head.
Four days later, I was out with SteVon when your Grammy kept
calling over and over. I finally answered, and found out that Grandmother wasn’t
doing well. And on that day, exactly one week after her surgery, Grandma passed
away.
It hurt more than I expected it to, Vivi. The death of a loved one is never an easy thing, whether someone is five or eighty-five. Love earnestly the people you truly care about, and tell them how much they mean to you. Don’t be afraid to love, even when it’s hard. It will be hard at times. People disappoint. Learn to accept them how they are, and love them beyond their faults.
When we found out we would be blessed with a little one (that’s you!) and then told your Grammy and Poppy, she said tearfully, “You know, your grandmother had been asking me when you and Rolf were ever going to have kids.”
My heart hurt after hearing that, and I almost wished I hadn’t heard it. When you lose the matriarch of a family, the cogs shift and things just feel different. That first Thanksgiving without her was hard. There was no scapegoat to tease, no funny faces over Grandma’s homemade mac ‘n cheese (she did, after all, use an entire block of Velveeta when making it), and no waiting for her snarky comments, the most common of which was about who in the family was gaining weight.
And then a few months after Thanksgiving, when the ground had thawed and Spring was in the air and our hearts had begun to heal a little, there you were. Babies have a way of healing wounded hearts, and you did that for us, Vivi. You light up our little world. I wish so much that I had a grandparent to share you with, to show you off as my best and most beautiful work of art, but it isn’t so. I can only hope that they can see you and the joy you’ve brought to our lives, and the love we have for one another.
You and all your three month old baby glory are just a joyful addition to our family. Some of your updates:
It hurt more than I expected it to, Vivi. The death of a loved one is never an easy thing, whether someone is five or eighty-five. Love earnestly the people you truly care about, and tell them how much they mean to you. Don’t be afraid to love, even when it’s hard. It will be hard at times. People disappoint. Learn to accept them how they are, and love them beyond their faults.
When we found out we would be blessed with a little one (that’s you!) and then told your Grammy and Poppy, she said tearfully, “You know, your grandmother had been asking me when you and Rolf were ever going to have kids.”
My heart hurt after hearing that, and I almost wished I hadn’t heard it. When you lose the matriarch of a family, the cogs shift and things just feel different. That first Thanksgiving without her was hard. There was no scapegoat to tease, no funny faces over Grandma’s homemade mac ‘n cheese (she did, after all, use an entire block of Velveeta when making it), and no waiting for her snarky comments, the most common of which was about who in the family was gaining weight.
And then a few months after Thanksgiving, when the ground had thawed and Spring was in the air and our hearts had begun to heal a little, there you were. Babies have a way of healing wounded hearts, and you did that for us, Vivi. You light up our little world. I wish so much that I had a grandparent to share you with, to show you off as my best and most beautiful work of art, but it isn’t so. I can only hope that they can see you and the joy you’ve brought to our lives, and the love we have for one another.
You and all your three month old baby glory are just a joyful addition to our family. Some of your updates:
You’re sleeping five
to six and a half hours nightly now. You were weighed on Wednesday and you
weighed 7lbs 15oz naked and 8lbs even with a diaper on. You’ve officially
doubled your birth weight! And that day you took 2/3 of a feeding from nursing
for the very first time ever. I was so proud of you! Of both of us, actually.
You often greet me with smiles throughout the mornings. I think, like your mother, you enjoy greeting the day when it’s new.
You’ve become a drooling mess these days and I fear that teeth might be closer than we think. I’m not ready! So big, you’re getting. I put your preemie shirt on you the other day for fun and laughed when it looked like a belly shirt on you. How did you get this big before my very eyes??!
You often greet me with smiles throughout the mornings. I think, like your mother, you enjoy greeting the day when it’s new.
You’ve become a drooling mess these days and I fear that teeth might be closer than we think. I’m not ready! So big, you’re getting. I put your preemie shirt on you the other day for fun and laughed when it looked like a belly shirt on you. How did you get this big before my very eyes??!
Sweet girl, as I look at you sleeping peacefully right now, I
wonder who you’ll grow up to be. When you’re old enough to remember, I’ll tell
you the stories of the strong women in our family and the strength that they
have passed on to you. I hope you’ll carry those words with you and take pride
in where you’ve come from, and how it has shaped the person you’ll be.
I am so thankful for
the opportunity to raise you. Even on
the most exhausted of days, I couldn’t imagine not having you. Don’t grow up
too fast, sweet daughter. There are hugs to give and bedtime stories to read
and fears to comfort. I will love you,
always.
Love,
Mama
Mama
Your great-grandmother and me playing Greedy with your grandparents in Spring 2011.
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