In Memoriam

My grandmother passed away unexpectedly on May 29th. Amid all the excitement of photographer interviews, cake tasting, and invitation designing, the last month has been somber and surreal.

Days shy of her 84th birthday, Grandma was active and fiercely independent. She worked nearly full-time as a volunteer for the local hospital and major league baseball team, walked to the mall and grocery store when the weather was nice, and took cruise vacations and road trips to visit family and see new places whenever she had the opportunity. She was loving, giving, and adventurous. She was also a woman who lived her own way and spoke her own mind—and made no apologies for it. And that was something everyone she befriended came to love about her.

Thinking of Grandma, many things come to mind: Baseball. Her perfectly styled hair. The Sweet Tomatoes and Fresh Choice coupons she always clipped for me. Retro furniture. Jigsaw puzzles. Her impeccable handwriting and ridiculously prompt thank-you cards. Crystal napkin rings. The smell of burnt chocolate at her house (she lived near a chocolate factory). And the Christmas Eve celebrations we had at her place for many, many years. She’d make us a fabulous dinner, one of us would sneak a treat into her stocking, we’d open gifts (which always included savings bonds, socks, and See’s candy), and just spend the evening talking and laughing and having some of the best of times.

And, of course, I remember the dating pressure...

Ever since I broke up with my high school boyfriend, Grandma would ask about my love life and offer unsolicited advice and opinions. “Why doesn’t Michael come around anymore?” “You let a good one go.” “Aren’t there any available young men at that church of yours?” She once tried to set me up on a blind date with a twentysomething she met at an Oakland A’s game. And one Valentine’s Day while I was away at college, she tucked a newspaper clipping about online dating services into my card.

It drove me nuts. I even schemed with a coworker about him posing as a new boyfriend at Thanksgiving dinner and acting so terribly my grandmother might lay off the dating encouragement for a while. Hehehe. (We never did it.) But I knew she meant well. Grandma wanted to see me happy. And the source of her life’s happiness was family—her husband, her sons, her daughter-in-law, her four grandkids, her siblings, and her sister-in-law-turned-best friend. She wanted these things for me, too.

I took Grandma out to lunch earlier this year and, knowing Paul and I were headed in the direction of marriage, I asked her questions about the love of her life. She told me stories I had never before heard—about meeting my grandfather (who passed away when I was 12); how as witnesses to a friend’s Reno wedding, they ended up eloping themselves; how they announced it at her sister’s wedding reception; how she was one of two girls in her senior class to marry before graduation. I listened, amused—but not surprised—by the image of my grandmother as a rebellious teenager. As she recalled the memories, her eyes lit up and she laughed heartily, and I wondered why I hadn’t engaged her in these types of conversations before.

Preparing for the memorial service, my mom, dad, and sisters looked through Grandma’s albums, gathering the best photos for a display. Her love story played out in scrapbooks—handwritten notes, anniversary cards, event programs, and photos pasted onto yellowed pages. News of her young nuptials made the local papers, and she’d saved the clippings. And I saw the only “wedding” photo she owned: The newlyweds captured descending a staircase with their marriage license in hand.

I made myself a copy of that photo, and it’s been sitting on my desk ever since. I miss Grandma terribly, and I am overcome with sadness when I think about how she won’t be at my wedding. My mother told me that the day Grandma went into the hospital, despite being very ill, she kept asking about the wedding. She wanted to know about the colors and who was in the wedding party and everything. It seems she sensed she wouldn’t get to experience it herself. Wouldn’t ever see me, or any of her grandchildren, get married. Wouldn’t ever meet her great grandchildren.

The last time I saw Grandma was at my engagement party. I suppose that is appropriate. After years of dating inquiry, my status was very clear: I was in love with a wonderful man who made me happy, and I was going to spend the rest of my life with him. And it was clear that day that my grandmother was so very happy for me.