If you’ll remember, a few weeks ago, I made a post about my grandmother being hospitalized. We prayed that God would let her come home, and He answered our prayers–just not in the way we thought. Instead of getting better, Grammy is currently home on hospice. She’s drugged into unconsciousness, but fortunately, also painlessness. I’ve spent a fair bit of time at their house in the past couple of days. Each time I visit, I say goodbye to Grammy. And I never know if it’s going to be our last goodbye.
When my other grandmother–Grandma Piazza, we always called her–passed away, I didn’t cry. I wasn’t at all close with her. We lived states away, and even when we only lived 45 minutes from each other, we’d only see each other a handful of times a year. Grammy is different. My sister and I used to go to her house once a week so Mom could go shopping. She taught me so many things–how to crochet, sew, cross-stitch, and play piano. We used to have alphabet blocks at her house, and she used them to help me learn how to read.
Speaking of which, there are certain books I remember her reading to me. Most of them were about animals. I can still hear her voice saying, “No place to curl up. No place to play. No catnip, no milk dish, we’re moving today. Don’t forget my toys, Mr. Moving Man! Don’t forget my basket and my little mouse! Don’t forget to take them to the other house!”
In fact, my first memory is of Grammy rocking me to sleep while singing “Jesus Loves Me,” then carrying me through the house to the then-Precious-Moments-themed nursery. I can still hear the clock ticking in the background–one of the pendulum ones that hangs on the wall. They still have that clock, but Papa never winds it anymore. It doesn’t tick like it used to.
I remember playing on the floor in the kitchen. Grammy had a whole drawer full of kitchen stuff she never used–old Tupperware, mixing bowls, an empty plastic container of parsley that still smelled strongly–and my sister and I would play with it. We also had some chunky wooden beads that we used as food. I remember stars and emerald-green cubes and these light blue tubular beads that we said were fish. They had a play tea set that we somehow managed to keep most of the parts to. Although I think the lids to the cream and sugar kept disappearing and re-appearing. And they had a doctor’s bag, and my mom’s old Barbies from the 70s, and a remote controlled car that could never keep a battery charge.
One of the best things at their house, though, was the sheep. They had a large-ish stuffed sheep that sat in their living room for whatever reason. I also had a smaller lamb stuffed animal (aptly named Lambie) and, even better, they had a flexible gate that blocked the way down their basement stairs. We could move that gate and block off the entry way with it and turn it into a sheep pen. We would tie a bucket to a jump rope and lower it down the stairwell to fetch water for the sheep. We’d use old wooden canes as shepherd’s staffs. Come to think of it, one of the few times my sister and I could reliably get along was at Pa and Grammy’s house.
There are other things, of course. Like the little pink car I would drive around the cul-de-sac next to their house, or the food that was only at Pa and Grammy’s house or the way peanut butter and jelly sandwiches always tasted better when Grammy made them. But I’m going to end this blog post by talking about her red cardigan. In a lot of my memories of her, Grammy is wearing a red cardigan. Today, I brought it home with me. It’s darker in color than I remember, but it smells like her. I’ll think of her every time I wear it, or just bury my face in it and inhale. It doesn’t smell much like her (she hasn’t worn it much recently), but still. It’s a comfort to have.
I’m not really sad yet. It’s hard to be sad when you know that a loved one is going to be in heaven rather than a body with dementia and chronic digestion issues. But I’ve never lost someone this close to me, so if I don’t post for a while–you’ll know why.
I know that a lot of my blog followers are people who know me personally. If you’ve met my grandmother, what’s your favorite memory of her? And if you’ve never met my grandmother, what’s your favorite memory with a deceased relative of yours? Let me know in the comments below! God bless you, dear readers, and please keep my family in your prayers.