Remembering Grandma

Grandma was the warmest, friendliest person you’d ever meet.When you were with her, you knew she was completely focused on you—and she was simply happy to be with you.

I remember watching Jeopardy with her in the evenings, and I loved listening to her give the questions in her lovely New England accent.

Whether in her work as a teacher at City College or in her time with her family, she made people feel valued and appreciated and enjoyed. My father tells the story of how my grandmother crossed picket lines outside her school to teach when the teachers went on strike because she wanted the students to continue to receive their education.

Grandma wasn’t a flashy person at all, though. She didn’t seek out attention or try to do big things that might seem important to the world. She was—at least to me—simply and extraordinarily a gentle person who radiated love.

When I try to picture her, she’s always smiling and looking at me, full of joy just to be with me and my brothers and sisters. She was so fully present in every conversation, connecting with people, and letting them know how important they were. I always knew she loved me completely and proudly. Just being with her was so wonderful.

Grandma passed away during my first year of high school—on May 8, in fact, so her anniversary is this week—and my world turned upside down to realize that she wouldn’t be part of all the moments the way she had always been. She was an important presence at family Sunday dinners and Ocean City vacations and special dinners out at Haussner’s and weekly Masses in the Good Samaritan Hospital chapel and all the ordinary moments too—treating us to stroganoff or cinnamon bread or mints out of a tin when we would visit her townhouse on Northbourne Road.

I was thinking that I can’t remember her having any trademark sayings, and I don’t recall her being someone who was always hugging or kissing me. I simply remember her sitting and holding my hand and listening and talking in her kind and comforting way. That was everything.

I wish Grandma were here today to sit and talk with me and watch my children ride bicycles around the yard and reminisce about the chocolate chip muffins and the huge ball of string at Haussner’s. I feel like she would help give me perspective and peace on this whole situation.

And I know that, even if she saw me lose my patience with the children or start yelling at the computer when I’m struggling to get someone logged on in time for ELA, she would smile and let me know that I am doing just fine.

When I think of the mother I want to be, I think of many women in my life who have inspired me—and continue to.

I think of my own mother, of course, and my sisters and sisters-in-law, aunts and cousins.

I think of my friends, friends I’ve known from childhood, and women I’ve come to know on my faith and adoption journeys.

I think of women I’ve never met in China who still love my children with a love so strong and hard and beautiful I may never fully understand it.

And I think of our Blessed Mother, of course.

But Mother’s Day never passes without my mind turning to Grandma, who loved me with a warm, gentle, proud love that made me feel so very special. Everyone deserves to be loved in that way.

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