People ask me all the time how long it takes for me to write a blog post. Quite honestly…. when the creative juices hit me, I can pound out one of my normal blog posts and have it published and all within about 15 minutes. I guess that’s a gift because it often surprises people. Ha. However, this one is different. This one has taken me quite some time for many reasons. One… Every time I start it, I begin to cry and I have to stop. Two, It’s a little unrelated… but not really once you keep reading. Three, it’s about my grandma. My person. My one NUMBER ONE… the person that will NEVER be replaced. Ever. By anyone. Ever.
Since I’ve been young and ever been asked the question of “if you could have dinner with ONE person who would that be, dead or alive?” I never knew how to answer that question. I didn’t have just “one” person I would want to do that with. While my grandmother, fondly called Bubby Nay (her name was Rene, yes, spelled the masculine way), or just Bubby (Yiddish for “grandma”), was always my number one… it was never a novelty… until it was.
My grandma was my Person. You know Meredith and Cristina on Grey’s Anatomy? Yeah. Like that. She was my Person. Always there, always a phone call away (since I moved to AZ in 2001). It was not uncommon for us to speak up to three times a day on the phone. Until towards the end where I (very foolishly) started distancing myself because I knew the end was nearing and I knew I couldn’t handle going “cold turkey”. To be honest, she did the same. I think we both knew we needed to do that. I regret that to this day… I honestly don’t regret much in my life.
We scheduled our Spring Break trip to MInnesota this year (March 2017) knowing it would be the last time I’d see her. I’d previously had a “good” visit with her in January when I went home to be there when my mom told her oncologist that she’d be ending her cancer treatment (I’ve had an “amazing” year. Sigh). We both knew it’d be our last “good visit”. I don’t know how we knew, but we did. For the first time in my life that I could remember, my grandmother and I had our “I love you, man” moment after her nurses got her in bed. She’d had a couple strokes that prevented her from getting around easily anymore and she was adamant she didn’t want to bury her daughter (my mom). And anyone who knew my grandmother knew that she always got what she wanted, one way or the other. After that discussion, when she kicked everyone else out of her bedroom but me, I knew. She knew. This was it. I got back to my mom’s that night, the night before I’d be flying back home, and called Sarah to tell her. “That was it. I’m not seeing my grandmother again.” I was heartbroken. Quietly heartbroken.
Anyways, Spring Break. Sorry. I write like I talk.
We’re on the flight- all four of us going for our scheduled trip. Things took a turn while we were in route and by the time I got there, she was no longer the Bubby that I remembered and that raised me. She hadn’t passed yet in body, but in spirit, she had. It wouldn’t be until about three days later and on her 63rd wedding anniversary that she’d pass to be with my grandfather who passed in 2013.
I’d told Sarah years ago that Bubby would be the hardest death I’d ever have to go through. To this day, and I realize I’m only coming up on five months, I still can’t talk about her without choking up. I’ve got tears streaming down my face even as I type right now.
Just last week a meme went around Facebook asking if there was anyone I could talk to and have a drink with, who would it be? My Bubby. God, what I’d give to have just one more minute with her. One more glass of wine. One more exasperated “Oh, Jennifer” (she was the only person allowed to call me that). One more “What’s new”” one more, “go with the flow.” God, what I’d give. (cue ugly cry)
I’m no stranger to telling people that while I was “raised” by my parents, my grandmother made me the person I am today. She kept me out of the trouble I would have gotten myself into had I not had her to run to. Literally. God I miss her. Every day. Every minute. One day I hope I can speak about her without losing it after the first sentence. I can barely look at her picture.
How does this all tie back?
Sarah never had a chance to come out to her. God, she would have loved it. She loved Sean. Sometimes, I’m pretty sure more than me, sometimes. Ha. They’d put away a bottle of wine together pretty much any time we went to dinner and she just loved him…. and I know she would have loved HER too. But… like Bubby always did, she knew. She knew me better than I knew me. She knew. While I’ve never been one to honestly believe that people “come back” and “visit” (my mom has most definitely changed my mind on that), I’d like to think that it’s partially because of her that we’re having such a smooth family transition. She’s watching. She’s here.
I just so wish she could (physically) see us now. I wish I could keep her up to date. I wish I could call her. I wish….. everything. Anything. (more ugly cry)
Today I almost called her. It’s the start of the school year… a time I talked to her more than normal because I could tell her anything… even just sob on the phone and not even talk. While i could never really get her to understand the stress of getting a classroom ready along with all of the other responsibilities that I have at school, I could still call, even if it meant me ending up frustrated on the other end of the line, just hearing her voice was enough. I still have her in my direct call on my phone. I can’t take her out. The phone isn’t even connected anymore… I just… can’t. I can’t take it out.
They say “in time it gets easier”. I think it will with losing my mom… but I don’t think it ever will with Bubby. I don’t think it will ever get better. I know, it ‘will’ but it sure doesn’t feel like it right now. I can talk about my mom just fine. Maybe because we knew that was coming…. and our relationship was very different. But I’m waiting for the day I can talk about my grandmother without losing it. Some days are harder than others. Today, not including while I officially type this, I cried my makeup off about three separate times…. all because she kept popping into my brain.
I just wish she was here to see us now. She’d be so proud of Sarah.
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