My Grandmother

I didn't want to go another day without mentioning my grandmother, who passed away last week at the age of 96, mercifully after a brief illness. She managed to evade the two things she feared most about getting old: going senile and being put in a nursing home (she only had to go as far as moving into an assisted living facililty.) She had all her marbles, up until the end. Just two weeks ago, at my mother's wedding, we passed the phone around, and she was wisecracking with Husband:

"So, Grandma, when are you getting remarried?" he asked.
"Hah," she said. "You should see what's here."

On Sunday, she was laid to rest in Miami, next to her husband, Phil, who died when I was five and predeceased her by over 40 years. What a long time to be away from someone you love. I can only imagine the conversations they are having now (if such things happen).

Him, smirking, taking the cigar from his mouth: "So, Yetta, what took you so long?"
Her, giving him a playful smack: "It's your fault for leaving so soon?"
Him: "Did you have a nice life, a good life?"
Her, smiling: "Yes. A lovely life."
Him: "You'll show me the pictures. But not just yet. Come on. We need a fourth for bridge."

I wasn't at the service, although I sent along something for my brother to read. But there will never be enough words to tell what she meant to me and how she influenced my life and how much I loved her. Words are weak conductors of feelings, but sometimes they are all we have, and sometimes there are no words at all.

This is what I offered:

I have so many memories of the ways that Grandma Yetta enriched my life that it’s hard to choose which ones to share.

She expanded my cooking repertoire. She made me beautiful scarves and sweaters (and one my favorite dresses), taught me how to knit and crochet (even though I promptly forgot how), but mostly what I remember is her wonderful sense of humor.

When I was a child, and Grandma came to visit, my younger brother and I loved to play tricks on her. During the 60s and early 70s, family cars had back seats with humps in the middle, which, if you had more than the standard 2.4 children, started many an argument about who got stuck sitting on that seat. My brother and I had a little routine that we used on Grandma on trips when my older brother didn’t come with us. We’d make a big show of letting her get in first to the backseat, then I would get it after her, but my brother would run around to the other side of the car and get in, leaving her to sit on the hump, and she would laugh and laugh with that wonderful cackle of hers, yet she kept letting us do that to her each time we got in the car.

But my favorite story, and one that I might have told some of you already, was one summer when Grandma was visiting. We were walking along the streets of Poughkeepsie to meet my mother after work. I was about 16 or so, and one of the fashions of the time was Danskin wrap skirts. I was wearing mine and it was a rather windy day. So I discretely held the flap in place so I wouldn’t expose myself.

Grandma turned to me and said, “Honey, if I was your age, I’d wear red panties and let the wind blow.”

If nothing else, at least I got someone to say "panties" at a funeral.

I think Grandma would have gotten a good laugh out of that.