My Favorite Lady

You would think, knowing what I know about life and death and all that, that having someone die would be a momentary sadness, tempered by time and the comfort of knowing I belive in eternal families.

But I still miss my Grandmother. Every single day. And it's been just over three years.

Last night, in an attempt to have clothing on and still maintain some semblance of cool in the Hobbit Hole, where it was a raging 90+ degrees, I had on her old "summer robe" which I snagged when going through her effects after her funeral. I don't wear it very often, but I was desparate last night. I sat, sweating buckets, and all I could think of was how much I missed her.

My Grandmother was the best friend I've ever had - the woman who influenced me more than any other person outside my parents; the woman who was more like me than anyone else in my family; the woman who is responsible for many of the things I love in life. She wrote to me faithfully in her spidery handwriting, nearly weekly, when I moved away. Since she died, I've not received a single letter (cards excluded) from anyone. Every time I came home, I begged her to visit my parents, so I could see her. The last time I was home before she died (8 months), she had a commitment and couldn't come. It had been 10 months since I had seen her when she died suddenly of a massive internal infection. She had plans to go camping with us 6 weeks later, which made it even worse.

My Grandmother was raised dirt-poor on a ranch near the Arizona Strip. During the school year they lived "in town" - a small cowboy community (to which she and my grandfather relocated after retirement) in southern Utah. She was the oldest of 5 children and the strong-willed one who dreamt of something bigger than her childhood existence (just like me). She was tough, wore pants and chafed under the different rules set for boys and girls.

She couldn't afford college, though she longed to go, so she took a job with the railroad concessions and eventually met my grandfather, the son of a wealthy textile merchant from NYC. Their two worlds couldn't have been further apart, but they had the strongest marriage I've ever seen. In lieu of formal education beyond high school, my Grandmother was determined to learn all she could. She had a passion for fine art, good food, good books, poetry, writing, sewing, painting, drawing, throwing dinner parties, the Old West, crossword puzzles, travel, "going out into the hills," hiking and her grandchildren.

She taught me to paint and draw, instilled in me a love of poetry (especially Walt Whitman and Longfellow), taught me how to appreciate art of all types (and accompanied me to any art show within an hour's drive as a child), ignited my passion for food and cooking and dinner parties, taught me to quilt and passed on her obsession with crossword puzzles - specifically the New York Times puzzles.

She chided my East Coast all-black wardrobe, and encouraged me to be daring enough to try color in my clothing. She didn't believe in "frumpy" clothes, and dressed primarily in suits when going to church or a formal function. Since we were about the same size, I inherited some of her clothing when she died - and gained two beautiful suits (not in black) as a result. She was reserved in crowds, as I am, but had a great sense of humor and an even deeper sense of compassion. Until the very end - at 88 years old - she was still "visiting the old ladies," many of whom were decades her junior - she took them meals, read to them, did their hair and sat and talked.

When she was inside, she was every bit the lady - always wearing shoes, always proper, never used paper plates for a sit-down dinner. When she was "in the hills" she was every bit the child who had grown up on the dessert prairies - wearing men's jeans (they fit her long legs better) with a floppy hat and a walking stick, talking of adventures past and yet to come and longing to be "out" for as long as possible.

She believed in a woman's divine nature and their critical role in bearing and nurturing children, but she also believed in independence, in having an opinion and sharing it, in being equal in her role as wife. She could be stubborn, strong-willed and adamant, which made her all the more charming to me. She believed in wearing a hat when outside, investing in good toilet paper and shoes (though she always bought generic tissues for some reason), eating good food, letting the linens air out before making the bed and the importance of memorizing things to keep her mind healthy. She loved to play Yahtzee! and cards, write stories, poems and essays, go to the symphony and read to us when we were small. Best of all, she adored having her grandchildren come to visit, and always made it special.

It is no wonder that I too developed a love for fine art and music, a love for good food, dinner parties, crossword puzzles, reading, poetry, card games, learning, writing and being outdoors.

My greatest joy will be getting to see her again. My greatest sorrow is that Baby Girl will never grow up having the chance to know the woman who so strongly influenced her mother. I have a feeling I will miss her even more upon Baby Girl's arrival.