Grammy

I felt it. Last Saturday.

It’s hard to describe.

The feeling of when you had a sweater that belonged to someone else, smelled like them, and you realized that someone washed it- taking the smell of the past away.

The feeling where your heart is clenched so tight you swear your chest is making room for another- but just empty space is taking over.

“Grammy passed” my brother said.

Grammy, Marion Mays, was classic. Like the old cars with the white upholstery that you don’t want to touch because it just looks so good. That was my Grammy. The kind that never had a bad thing to say about anyone (except Donald Trump. I’ll give her a pass on that, though.) A grandmother who will shuffle her way down stairs to make you a 3-course meal at 11:30 when your train gets in. A woman who always insisted you were too skinny and there were starving kids in (pick a country) and you should clean your plate. An angel that wouldn’t turn anyone away when they needed help- because she remembers the time, back in 1934, when neighbors needed help and her family helped them, because that’s what humans do.

She taught me a lot about that grey line of what we do because it’s right vs. what is expected.

She was the grandmother that insisted on making me PINK everything. Quilts, sweaters, coats, socks, you name it… “Pink is the color of girls and it’s just what you wear/do as a girl!” She would say. The day I (finally) told her that I loathed the color, I remember the look on her face as she realized what kind of world she created for me… The look when she realized that she had helped mold a woman who will always question things- especially if society is the dictator. The look of confusion then acceptance. The look of pride and slight jealousy that she always felt like there were things she didn’t want to do- but had to- and here are humans, her own grandchildren, fighting back against norms. She loved us more for it.

During one of my visits in 2011 I told her that I was burning out of my career. That I wanted to stop and sell everything and travel. Her and Granddad were really opposed to this- products of growing up during the Great Depression- and voiced their concerns. They knew better than to try to talk me out of it, though. I had “my father’s side of the family in me. Always fighting. Never giving up on what I believed in.”

Confession: right before I left I was terrified. I had spent all this time and energy convincing others that it was fine- but now I had to actually do it. All 14 months. That stupid thing called “doubt” and “fear” was sneaking into my head.

My mom came up to my room while I was finishing packing and gave me a letter from Grammy. I tore open the letter and read the single greatest thing my Grammy has ever written me.

Don’t get me wrong- she wrote me a lot. Hand-written letters were always her thing. (Fun fact: that’s how she met my Granddad during the WW2.) But this letter- is the thing I cherish the most.

“Dear Ellen,

Soon you’re off to foreign lands
by plane, by rail and ship.
Going north and south and east and west
Oh! what a wonderful trip!

You’ll be seeing things you’ve longed to see
and some of we have, too!
New customs, foods, exotic lands
and animals not in a zoo!

So, Ellen, be our eyes and ears
take us along in your heart
because we’ll be there along with you
and never be apart.

God bless you, Ellen! Come back home safe and sound.
XOXO
Love, Grammy and Granddad”

Thank you for believing in me, Grammy. Thank you for the lessons. Thank you for loving me.