My Grandma

When I was young, my grandmother lived far away. When I was only a few years old, she moved to San Francisco to live with her boyfriend. Later on she moved back home, but only briefly. She then moved to Spokane, Washington, where she lived until I was 22 and just getting married.

I didn't have the normal relationship with my grandma. She never babysat, I never went over to her house for cookies, she never canned food or made me homemade pies, she was never there to run to when I had a problem or was fighting with my mom. I did talk to her on the phone occasionally, and she did come to visit once in a while. And I always adored her.

To me, she seemed strong, and independent. She was a career woman back when that was not the thing to do. In the '50s and '60s, a woman was only supposed to stay at home and have babies, and they were supposed to be happy with that. She traveled all over the country for her job, she lived in a great place, and she seemed to have a great life.

As a child, my grandmother was glamorous to me. When she stayed at our apartment, I loved watching her in the bathroom getting ready for bed. I would sit and watch her remove her makeup with various creams. She would wash her face, moisturize, apply countless creams and lotions that all smelled so good. She always had nice clothes and lots of high-heeled shoes. She owned a salon, and she did nails. Hers were always perfect, as was her hair. She always smelled so good. She always seemed to have money. She left lipstick marks on her cigarettes. She was a mystery to me, like nobody else I had ever known.

Later in her life, my grandma regretted spending all of those years away from us. You can't run away from your demons. I spent the last years of her life visiting her, having her make me cookies and give me treats, babysit my children, be there for me when I needed her, listen to me like a grandma should. I spent all the time with her (and my grandpa) that I could, because I knew their time was running low. I let her have the relationship with her great-grandchildren and enjoy things she missed out on when we were young. I let them worry about me and waved to them every time I left the house, and they stood in the doorway watching to make sure I left safely.

Thank you both for doing that. You will never know how much that meant to me.