February 8th - Birthday of a Memory

Today was her birthday. If she was alive, she would be 97. If she was alive. I promised myself I'd write this article, and honestly, I don't blame you for not reading all of it. If you do, that's wonderful. I don't promise this to be a coherent article. I do promise it to be memorable. I need to remember, because I don't want to forget. This is nine years ( almost 10) worth of memories and fifteen years of trying to remember them.

She was my grandmother on my father's side. She never worked, but she wasn't hurting for money either, nor was she made of it. Her husband died in the mines when my dad was young. His pension saw her through. She had four children, and never once remarried- three boys and a girl. My dad was the youngest.  All children had families. The middle boy went to work one day and was killed on his way to work, by a drunk driver. He had three kids. I never knew him.

She had four children, 12 grandchildren, and I never bothered counting the great grandchildren as they keep increasing. I was the youngest of the 12. Moving on:

Earliest memory is probably around three years old. I was playing Rock-A-Grammy. She had a rocking chair, and she would always hold me, but I always did the rocking.

I remember sitting on her lap, playing the piano.--Grandma Got Ran Over by a Reindeer, Mozart's 40 Symphony, and William Tell Overture. There was also Jingle Bells, and I'm sure there were more, but those are the ones I remember. She played the chords, as she never got around to teaching me those. I also remember her singing.

I remember playing with my younger cousins and running around her dining room table that I now own.

I remember every birthday card, every Christmas card, and I remember all the ornaments she used to make. I also remember how she always incorporated a 50 dollar bill into each one. I still have all the cards, and all the bills, still folded intricately as the day she gave them to me. I can't bring myself to spend them, let alone unfold them. Memories, you know?

The only time I really lost it is at my high school graduation party opening the gifts, as it were. I came across the card, I didn't quite recognize the writing on the front of the envelope. However, when I saw the giant XOXO at the bottom of the card, I knew. No one could ever duplicate it, despite how difficult some tried after she passed. It just didn't evoke the same feelings. I still have that monetary gift too.

I have the cards, the gifts--every one she ever gave me-- the dolls, the books, the collector paper doll books, the Chinese yo yo, the bendy Santa, the bear crayon holder, the Santa pillow, the Barbie with homemade clothes and furniture--everything. The specific Barbie has since been recalled due to chemical leaching, but I couldn't get rid of it. It would have been replaced, but a replacement just wasn't the same you know? Memories, it all went back to memories.

I have the watch she got as a 16th birthday gift from her uncle back in 1928, and 5 rings that used to be hers. I have pins and brooches - the kind they call costume jewelry these days, but are actually old and worth something. I have a lot of her clothes that fit me, and are actually coming back into style - a lot of them were handmade by her. I have her hat she wore on her wedding day, and the crown she wore on her 80th birthday. I have some of the miniature boxes she used to collect, and a pile of her reference books that she used the most. I have a turquoise and sterling silver butterfly ring she gave me for getting good grades, as well as an umbrella she gave me when I was nine, as every lady had to keep dry. I have her fancy handkerchiefs, as every lady needed them, still folded as neatly as they were when they were given to me.

I remember what she looked like. She was my height, my build, with curly shoulder length silver hair. Long after she passed, when I was 16, I was shown her picture when she was that same age. It was like looking in the mirror. We had the same haircut, and from what I was told, we used to have the same hair color too. For the longest time, her hair was stick straight as mine, and when she got older it got curly, without the use of curlers.

I remember the cookies, the cakes, the pumpkin pies, the rice pudding, the meatballs, and all the food she made. I remember her recipes as she told them to me, and only recently began committing them to paper. I wish I did it sooner.

I remember her organizational methods, and to some respects, mine mirror hers. She knew exactly where everything was. Her bedroom walls were pink, her favorite color, but you would scarcely know it. Her room was wall to wall shelves, and storage bins, but she had a drawer and in this drawer were lists. Every box in the attic was labeled and every list corresponded with a box. She knew where everything was, and she kept everything. Fifteen years later, and we are still sorting through everything. I also remember the one thing she couldn't find--a set of curtains for the TV room. She used to swear they fell from the back of the truck when they were moving. Here they were in the one box she didn't pack completely, tucked under the bear rug.

Aside from all the good things, I remember the awful sad things too. Most of all I remember her last sickness. She was in the hospital, but was sent home, as she wanted to be home. It hurt the most to see her this way. She was a strong lady, always self sufficient. It started where she was just sick, but she still got around. Then she couldn't walk, but to the bathroom and back, then not at all. She couldn't eat but minuscule ice cubes, then not at all. I saw all the stages, and I don't want to see them again. Then she slipped away on my brother's birthday.

I remember her funeral, her viewing, what I wore, who was there and how I was jammed between my mother and the limo driver on the way to the funeral without so much as a seat belt.

Call it imagination or reality, after she died, I could have sworn I saw her for years afterward standing by the foot of my bed,to the left side of the window. I saw this out of the corner of my eye, but when I looked towards what I saw, it was gone. I haven't seen this in some time, at least since I changed bedrooms, and got a new bed. Sometimes I think I'm crazy, or perhaps I was crazy, and I'm not anymore.

In the first nine years of my life, I remember a lot of her. The only thing I can't recall is her voice. I don't recall what it sounded like. Maybe I'm too far removed from it. It has been 15 years since I heard it.

These memories are strong, and I don't want to forget.