Upon remembrance of you
October 12, 2007 | Filed under: Familia
“The faintest waft is sometimes enough to induce feelings of hunger or anticipation, or to transport you back through time and space to a long-forgotten moment in your childhood. It can overwhelm you in an instant or simply tease you, creeping into your consciousness slowly and evaporating almost the moment it is detected.” ~Stephen Lacey
When I met them, they lived in New York, but they were all southerners. Three from Alabama and one from West Virginia and so I try not to make jokes about kissing cousins but I’m sure they once regaled the stories of farms and hot nights on the porch, working in coal-mines and the time a tractor ran through the house.
My memories of them – my grandparents – are mostly foggy with a hint of sunshine and clarity every now and then. Everything is in pieces and out of place and probably a story I’ll never remember. I can think of the grapevines in my maternal grandparent’s backyard in Queens. I loved grapes then as much as I do now. My grandfather took us to McDonald’s each Saturday. He would get a chocolate shake and I would get a Big Mac. Garrett and I had walking sticks for our tours around the neighborhood to keep away dogs. The sticks were like checking under the bed for a monster before turning off the lights; completely ineffective and still I believed.
The summer he broke his back and the lung cancer was discovered, my mother and I went to visit him in the hospital. My mother was performing her power of attorney duties and a doctor asked whether or not he wanted to sign a DNR. While most things about him are a blur I distinctly remember him saying, “If the good Lord wants to take me away, then I’m ready”. He died the day after Christmas and his funeral was held on New Year’s Eve. I now hate New Year’s.
He is the one I remember the best. I know that we spent the most time together and that he let me drink his coffee and bought packages of lollipops and always said that it was “grand day.” He was my mother’s father and unlike my grandmother, he didn’t ask what color I was when I was born. He liked the coconut rabbit cake my mother made for Easter and the first time the World Trade Center was bombed, he let me and Garrett stay up late and slide down the stairs in laundry basket covered by a blanket. He was the first person to ever use the ‘N’ word in front of me during a thirteen hour car drive to western Alabama. He always wore a hat and flannel shirts. He used powdered shaving cream and allowed me to perch on the sink next to him while he mixed the green paste together and whistled away.
The other day Danielle and I were discussing grandparents and she said that she couldn’t imagine what it would be like for someone who never met their grandparents. That is something I will never know but then I can’t help but wonder if it’s as difficult as trying to remember things about them once they are gone. The little things that at one point were incredibly insignificant but now are permanently etched in the mind. I don’t remember the color of my shirt yesterday but I can’t help but thank God, every time I remember what my grandfather smelled like and to smile when I come across a bar of Irish Spring.
Plattie says:
This is such a lovely piece of writing. I’m sure your grandfather would be really touched to know that these are the memories of him that you treasure.
My Grandmother was Italian and never really learned English, so she and I never had a conversation except with my mother translating, and when she died I felt like I’d never really known her because of that. But years later I find I do have memories of her, not talking memories but little insignifcant moments from times we spent together. I cherish them nonetheless.
Jennie says:
I thik this is one of your best posts. Beautiful.
My grandpa called me sugar and sent me my last Christmas and birthday presents in September because he wasn’t sure he’d make it to the holidays. He made it until that following January, and I’ve missed him every day since.
Danielle says:
Beautiful, darling.
I also used to watch my grandfather shave. He was a whistler, too.
lindsayc says:
I only really knew my maternal grandparents. The smell of player’s cigs and joy perfum bring them to mind. I also inherited my grandmother’s dining room suite - every time I open the hutch the scent of her house is instantly there.
Angela says:
I wish I could remember this much detail about my paternal grandfather. I truly didn’t appreciate the moments I had with him enough. Beautiful post.
Dagny says:
Lovely post.
RandomGirl says:
I know nothing about half of my grandparents. Both of my father’s parents died before I was born. It’s hard in those moments when my father compares me to one of them. Seeing their picture and hearing stories about how much they would love me.
My mother’s parents both died before I was 7. I remember only a little, but the memories I do have are vivid. I remember the peanut butter and butter sandwiches; the loungy type beds they bought for us; my grandpa’s roses, wine cellar, and yoga mat. My Aunt moved into their house, and I refuse to visit. I don’t want the memories of it being theirs to get muddled up at all.
My ex-boyfriend still has all of his grandparents. He likes to complain about them, and each time he does I alternate from being angry at him, and sad for my own loss. Just thinking about them brings tears to my eyes.
Thanks for sharing your moments; I hope they keep you and your soul warm forever.
Angella says:
I saw your Twitter about crying while writing a post. You have me crying while reading said post. My grandparents were clear across the country and me memories of them are spotty at best.
Kyran says:
such a vivid portrait. it shimmers.
xo
k.
supertiff says:
perfect.
perfect, perfect, perfect.
i’ve been struggling a bit about how to approach a similar subject on my own site: now, i think i will just link here, and ask people to it from my point of view, and with my father taking the place of your grandfather.
oh, hell.
i guess that wouldn’t be good enough, either.
but at least now i have hope…this post is beautiful.
maybe i will be able to find the words after all.
gina says:
Oh, how lovely.
I didn’t know my grandparents–actually, just one of them. It would be nice to have these reminders of them as I spend a lot of my time wondering who they were and if we would have liked each other.
Kelly says:
oh my. Lovely piece. And the part about the Irish Spring? This is how it is with my grandfather. Only it’s Safeguard.
Anna says:
I lost my grandma the day before New Year’s. I hate it now too.
Rachel says:
It is interesting to see what you remembered about your grandparents. I remember those things and then some. However, I wish you remembered more of your grandmother, but that’s what we are here for….to fill in the blanks. She did do so much more for you than you know (much more than ask what color you were when you were born). I vividly remember the phone call from your dad letting us know that you were born. We were all so excited about you and couldn’t wait for you to be born (especially me….I wanted a baby to play with). Mom’s first inquiry was not your color, but she wanted to know how her daughter was doing after giving birth. Then she asked your dad if he inspected you and made sure you had all of your fingers and toes and she wanted know if you were healthy. Yes, she did ask what color you were, but not so much to know if you were light or dark, but she wanted a visual of what you looked like (remember this was before digital photography and email). I remember that I wanted to go to Albany so bad to see you live and in living color, but my mom wouldn’t let us because, according to her, the baby shouldn’t have visitors until she’s had a chance to build up her immune system. How long would that take? Two weeks. After the longest two week wait of my life, we were finally going to Albany to see you. Since then (until she was no longer able to do so because of her illness), your grandmother not only adored you, but was your and your mom’s biggest supporter….especially through the time when your parents were separating. I remeber the time my mom wore me out going to each and every Buster Brown and Stride Rite in the Queens/Long Island area looking for these red, t-strap shoes that she believed every little girl should have once she started walking good and her first granddaughter was going to have them no matter what. You are extrememly fortunate to have known your grandparents. While I don’t know your paternal grandparents, I’m very familiar with your mom’s parents and they were and are wonderful people. You are truly Blessed. Can’t wait for Paris….Love you, Aunt Rachel.