all saints day

Who are you, Margaret?

Someone who held my hand so hard at times, I could feel your four gold rings on that one left ring finger leaving impressions in my skin, but I never felt like letting go.  I remember being so small I couldn’t see over the pew in front of me at church, and holding that warm, soft hand.

You are someone who always hugged me like it would be the last time I would see you.  With so much meaning.  Hugs that were full of all the thanks and love and comfort you could express.  Often tearing up at the goodbye part, the part where the thought of not seeing me or mom or Gennie or dad again for as little as twenty four hours, or as much as a few months, was just a little too much to bear.

You are someone who always told me not to waste my time on meaningless relationships–I had to be on my own for awhile, I had to love myself first and best and always.  You told me I didn’t need anyone else for validation–I was worth millions before anyone worthwhile even came close to recognizing it.  I remember you giving many of mine and Gennie’s boyfriends a run for their money.  And I remember loving that about you.

You are someone who loved to laugh.  And laugh, and laugh, and laugh.  At life, at yourself, and the absurdity and ridiculousness of circumstance.  When laughing was the only thing left to do.  I remember an afternoon meal at Tillamook, a jeep in the parking lot that looked a lot to you like dad’s.  Because it was dad’s.  Oh, those potatoes. 

You are someone who sometimes cried.  Because you felt unloved, because you felt neglected, because you felt old and useless and burdensome.  Because you felt like a weight around the necks of the people who loved you best.  But you are someone who allowed those very same to tell you again and again that you were wrong about that, and that you could never be a problem.  I must have told you that five hundred thousand trillion times.  And then some.  We never let you get away with such an absurd suggestion!  You sure racked up a lot of dollars for that.  But cutting your losses, I think you came to believe us–you were worth it. 

You are someone who never tired of asking mom and dad when the girls would be coming home, when the next time you would get to see us was.  Who always made me feel like I was so important, so significant, such a blessing in your life.  When I came to visit you, you were always with me.  You are someone who loved me so much and so hard and so unconditionally.  From the moment I was born.  But who watched me grow up and grow into myself, and who loved me more for it.  Not just because you had to.  Because you wanted to.  Because you knew me, and loved who I am. 

You are someone who asked me about my life.  Who wanted to know everything about who I am and where I am going and what I will do next.  Someone who is so proud of me for the things I love and the things I do best–for the things I am.  Someone who wanted to hear about Africa and Peru, about swing dance and psychology, about my best friends and my boyfriends, my challenges and my triumphs.  You sent me cards on my birthday.  You came 3,000 miles across the country to my high school graduation.  You met two of the very best friends that I believe I will ever have, you met the first boy I ever loved.  You cared about each one of these people because I love them, and that’s enough.

You are someone whose nails I filed, scrubbed and painted a hundred times, whose clothing I folded and hung neatly in her closet, whose room I restocked with Kleenex and perfume, ice cream and cookies and lemon drops, and whose bed I turned down to cuddle her in to sleep at night.  Someone I helped mom and dad drive to radiation, to acupuncture, to lunch, to ice cream, to the moonstruck chocolate cafe.  You are someone who could never say no to a good dessert, even when you couldn’t eat another bite of dinner.  You were eighty-three years old, you were allowed. 

You never thought about your age, and so you remained, thirty-nine and holding.  You asked anyone and everyone to call you Grandma.  Margaret is your name, but Grandma is who you are. 

Your eyes are so blue and your hair is so white.  Your wedding photo and the portrait of you and your mother attest to how beautiful you’ve always been.  A real knockout.  two pictures of you and I have sat on my desk for the past year, one of you whispering in my ear as I laugh, saying something I’ve since forgotten.  One of me sticking my tongue out and you smiling like you’re up to something.  Everyone who notices those pictures on my desk says the same thing.  "Those are fantastic pictures.  You’re grandma looks like a great lady."  And I always say the same thing "she is.  She really is."

You are someone who brought the five members of my immediate family closer together than any of us ever could have predicted.  through our love for you, through our laughter with you, through our anger and frustration at your other sons and daughters, through our solidarity of living with you and for you and taking care of one another through it all.  Through yelling until we were crying, crying until we were laughing, laughing until our

sides split, and somehow gaining perspective in the middle of it all.  Through loading and unloading wheelchairs and walkers from the trunks of the cars, through loading and unloading you from the passenger seats.  Through seeing thirty thousand doctors with eighty thousand appointments.  Through helping you drink terrible orange x-ray juice, and “doin’ it for Jesus.” you gave our family an incredible gift.   

You are someone who has taught me more about my mother, my father, my sister, my brother; my family, than you will ever know.  More about the grit and gumption and teeth and nails of love, but also the warmth and the fire and the heart of it.  You are someone who has made me more patient, compassionate, and empathetic than most likely any or all of my other life experiences combined.  You are someone who has given me hope, reminded me of what believing in something can be and do, and showed me the grace and beauty of age in spite of, or perhaps because of the hard parts.  You have made me more of myself with every moment we spent together.  You have changed my life.  And I believe you will for years to come.  For always.

Love,

Kirsten