After a while, you sort of get used to the "new normal." So even though I knew dementia would ultimately take her, it sort of felt like the new normal was that we just had the same conversation over and over again.
She was happy and active still. The pets still flocked to her.
So this is just what normal was now and we were happy to have the time.
I have less specific stories with Grandma, rather warm memories.
Eating cinnamon covered gram crackers while coloring with Grandma.
Watering Grandma's plants and feeling like I had a grownup task.
Watching Disney movies with Grandma, the VHS tapes with the huge Disney cases. Shirley Temple films as well.
Grandma was always a constant source of warmness in my life. Like a heartbeat. Something you don't always notice, but know it's important.
She was the anchor keeping our large Catholic family engaged and together. Without her, without Grandpa, it's on the next generation to maintain those links, to work through our issues, to make sure we're still a family unit.
I've got some trepidation that normal life and the other families you juggle (in-laws, children's marriages) may take up all that emotional space for family time and the Dobyns' clan may evaporate. At the very least, it will look different. The meeting place will no longer be where Grandma Dobyns is. We will need to create new traditions and anchor events to new places.
When the 60 or so kids, grandkids, great grandkids were running around her house, throwing wrapping paper everywhere, banging random keys on the piano, Grandma was always in the center spot.
Any picture you look at for anyone's birthday or Easter, grandma is more center.
Even slides from the 70s of Grandma and Grandpa throwing their monster ragger parties, Grandma is slinging cocktails in the middle of everyone.
What happens when that anchor isn't there? Does the family just drift at sea like some sort of ghost ship?
I hope not, but that will be up to us to maintain.
Sal's family knew her as Grandma Marian. It felt right even though Grandma Dobyns was the nomenclature I used my entire life. It felt warm and I think it captured how disarming she was. You never felt tension around Grandma. Always at ease.
Even when she had no idea what was going on, who was in the room with her, she was magnetized to people (children especially) and animals. When the nieces came for Thanksgiving, she immediately exclaimed, "How adorable" and just bent down for a hug, which the nieces immediately reciprocated.
She sometimes forgot who Sallie and I were, but every time she came over to our house, she knew there were cats, and she knew she wanted to pet them. She'd get on the floor gesturing at the cats, and they would almost always come over to her.
I've been chasing the feeling of Christmas at Grandma Dobyns house most of my adult life. I still keep the Christmas tree log tradition alive. I often times talk myself into the larger, real tree. I even procured one of those vintage glass Christmas trees that lights up.
But there's nothing that can replace the laughter as Grandma shakily handed out gifts to everyone. I blame those damn great grandchildren for taking that from me. Once they started showing up, all of a sudden, ole Dan is too old for Christmas gifts.
I did get to start a new tradition though. Whiskey eggnog. Grandma had these green glasses lined up on her counter every Christmas. Anyone over 21 that wanted to partake, would get a cocktail.
I spent years trying to find out the ratios, the type of whiskey, the garnish, but I never could quite make them like Grandma. They were strong, but you couldn't taste the whisky in them if made right.
Finally, one of the last Christmases at her house, I made Grandma make me a drink in slow motion. And finally, I was able to recreate the drink at home, in the same green glasses that Grandma had.
I had what I consider one of the best possible goodbyes with Grandma. (I saw grandma after this, but I consider it my true goodbye) It was shortly before Sal and I went to France. I had this premonition that something was going to happen while we were gone. (You're gone for almost 3 weeks, a lot can happen). Before we left, we went over to my mom's house and had the slides setup.
Mom had found a few slide reels from Grandma and Grandpa's European trips.
Grandma still had a sense that she was looking at herself. I don't know if she fully understood in what context, but she was still quick witted. We spent a few hours crawling through slides, trying to figure out where they were taken.
We were making fun of how many slides Grandpa would send Grandma a large distance from the camera to get her picture taken in front of some building. Dozens of pictures of Grandma, standing in front of a monument, or a liquor store, or the airport, which Grandpa safely tucked behind the camera.
Or Grandma "Enjoying a Screwdriver in bed" as the slide caption said. Not mentioning that she very obviously does not have a shirt on under the blankets.
There was one slide in particular we spent a lot of time on. Grandma sitting in the back of a TWA jet. So much space. There was a bench seat in the very back. And there she is, posing like a pinup girl. We were surprised at how much elbow and leg space people had. How nice the upholstery was.
It was a nice connection to family. To see my grandparents with the travel bug, similar to the one that I have now. And in a lot of ways, Sallie and I follow in their footsteps. Japan, Germany, England, Hawaii. I see a lot of overlap in our trips with the trips my grandparents took.
Grandma has not been grandma in a while. But even as her disease progressed, there were things in her DNA that she couldn't forget. Her laugh, her love of flowers, animals. Proof that there are some things that are just a part of you.
No comments:
Post a Comment