My Gramma

My grandmother died last month, on January 14. She was 89 years old. Margaret and I flew up north to her funeral this past weekend. Talking with my family, I was reminded of what a special person she was, and how much I'll miss her presence on this earth.

She was truly a strong, brave woman. She raised 6 children, lost one when he was 19, and took part in raising many of her 15 grandchildren and 9 great-grandchildren. She was a calm, reassuring presence in my life even when I wasn't with her, and now that she isn't here, I feel her absence. I can still smell her pierogi, taste her garlic salad dressing, and remember the comforting feel of her kitchen when I padded downstairs in the morning. She always made sure we had warm socks to wear on the linoleum floor, even when it was 80 degrees outside. I love to remember her laugh, which was pretty frequent when family got together to tell stories, or when we kids were cutting up for her.

My family moved out of state when I was in elementary school, and after that my visits to Gramma were annually or even biannually. My cousins have so many fun memories of days when she babysat them, and most of my memories are limited to my very early childhood or the occasional Christmas. I feel a little sad that I didn't get to know her as intimately as some of my cousins, but hearing their stories made me feel so much closer to her. I also realized how grateful I am that my own children have close relationships with their grandparents, and see them often. I'm glad they will have many happy memories of their own grandparents. I am so grateful that my cousins spent so much time with Gramma and can pass on her legacy to the rest of us, and to our children.

Rest easy, Gramma. I love you.