What you mean(t) to me: Love and grieving for my Granny
A busted organ, a worn-out VHS tape of Betty Boop cartoons, and a Smurf bus toy inside a quaint home on the corner of Main Street in Grapevine, Texas. A home adorned with pictures of sons, daughters, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren with knick-knacks and a kitchen that always had fruit roll-ups stocked. Outside, an array of flowers that changed with the seasons and a greenhouse full of need-to-do projects and rehabbing plants. You drove a Ford Grenada with vinyl seats that would singe your legs in the Texas Summer yet I vowed that I wanted to have it as my first car because you drove it.
This was where I knew I was loved and always welcomed even when we’d make surprise stops to see you.
You meant the world to me as a child and that sense of love shined for everyone you let into your heart. Cantankerous and stubborn, yet sweet and enduring. Your personality and zest for life would light up a room and bring the family together.
You went on family road trips: tubing all of Schlitterbahn Waterpark, going off-roading and up ski lifts in Red River, and riding in a helicopter on Fort Walton Beach. Countless trips to who knows where that ALWAYS included a stop at Wal-Mart.
As I grew, you were always a sought after guide that loved me as I am and supported what I was to become. Even when you struggled, I always felt able to come to you and speak the truth to connect with an authenticity that let me know you cared. This love of grandparent-to-child blossomed as I grew and you welcomed in my future wife as one of your own.
You celebrated the birth of both of our sons, watched them grow, and listened to their every word as they regaled you with stories and questions. The love and joy you shared with my wife meant more to her than many can comprehend.
You endured things that many could not: Your childhood cut short by The Great Depression, you falling in love with Grandpa Jack who served in the U.S. Army in WWII and living through losing him before my mom finished high school. The tenacity to keep going and living a full life to the age of almost 95 with five generations of the family living at the same time. I can speak with confidence that you will always be loved by all that spent time with you.
We visited you most recently during the holidays while you were in hospice care. I knew you hadn’t been eating so I brought the boys to see you and miraculously you mustered the strength to be on your best behavior, ate almost a full meal, and talked with them. You left for your next existence on Monday and, true to form, went on your terms without any medicine. I am filled with joy and sorrow as we mourn the loss and celebrate your life. I will always have what you mean to me in my heart and cherish the time shared.
I love you, Granny.
