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Sunday, March 18, 2007

Life is for enjoying

My grandmother, whom I’ve written about recently, passed away Thursday morning after struggling with Alzheimer’s. On Friday I hopped on a flight to Michigan. My luggage didn’t arrive with me, so after a quick trip to pick up some clothes at Target, I headed with my family to the funeral home for four hours of visitation.

Saturday was the funeral. With 76 years of living in the same small town, there was hardly an empty seat in the place. After a brief introduction from the minister and a song by my grandfather’s former secretary, I stood up to speak. Up until an hour before the funeral, I was planning to have the minister read what I wrote. But I knew that my grandmother would have wanted me to do it, rather than a minister she’d never met, so I sucked it up and faced the crowd, my grandmother’s body in the casket beside me.

I’m not a comfortable or confident public speaker, but I almost felt like a different person. Surprisingly, my words didn’t feel rushed. The crowd laughed when I wanted them to. I didn’t cry. I paused in the right places. It didn’t feel too long, too short or too scripted. I even adlibbed a couple of times, and it didn’t go terribly.

It makes me smile to think that my grandmother would have been proud, if very embarrassed by the attention. It makes me proud to do something I didn’t think I could do — and I did it for my grandmother, who thought the world of me and whom I will miss terribly.

While it doesn’t translate incredibly well into writing (versus speaking), below is what I shared. I wish you could have met her.

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Grandma Phyl’s legacy for her grandchildren is summed up in these four words: Life is for enjoying. Food is for indulging (especially sweets), music is for dancing, and money — much to Grandpa’s chagrin — money is for spending.

Some of our earliest memories of Grandma Phyl are of trips to Carrow’s super market, where she would special order her long-john sweet rolls. “Can you just put in a little extra filling?” she would ask the women working at the bakery. We were barely home before the bag was open and the donuts were in our mouths, the creamy insides oozing out the back and onto our laps. In Grandma’s world, Apple Jacks and long johns were the perfect breakfast. … I have at least two cavities with Grandma’s name on them.

It was clear where we fell on Grandma Phyl’s list of priorities — and that was right at the top. When life became just too tough at our parents house, we always knew that grandma’s world was one of luxury and ease, of lounging by the pool while she lathered our backs with sunscreen, threw pennies on the bottom of the pool for us to fetch, and rated our dives on a scale of 1 through 10. Somehow we always rated highly.

There was never a function or activity that Grandma missed, all the way from the earliest elementary school holiday concerts through high school sporting events. Our entire baseball and softball teams came to rely on Grandma’s turkey sandwiches — piled high with meat and slathered thick with Miracle Whip — and especially the full bag of Milky Way candy bars that always showed up in the cooler. When a car horn honked from the outfield, we knew she’d seen a play she liked — or sometimes one she didn’t like.

Some of our most memorable times were at Christmas. Before dinner, we would sneak downstairs to browse through the many piles of presents while Grandma and the adults prepared dinner. An annual favorite was Grandma’s special recipe for baked beans. Only recently have I realized that that quote-unquote “homemade” recipe really consisted of a can of Bush’s and a liberal scoop of extra brown sugar.

Grandma wasn’t much for cooking, but she loved to have her family there for dinner. We had to practically force her to stop waiting on everyone, sit down and have some food for herself.

As far as Grandma was concerned, there were only three rules for her grandkids. Number 1: Grandma’s house was to be kept clean and tidy at all times. While it was perfectly fine to stay up late and sleep in even later, once she made the beds in the morning, sitting on or otherwise wrinkling her neat bedspreads was strictly frowned upon. Oh, and windows were never to be touched.

Rule Number 2: No matter what you’re doing, where, or with whom… You better look good. She wasn’t shy about enforcing this lesson, either. “Look at those nose hairs!” she once told me, just before cornering me with an electric trimmer in her hand. Even near the end, she loved to have Christina come over and paint her fingernails.

Finally, and most importantly, the third rule was this: No one… teacher, coach, parent, boss… no one messes with Grandma Phyl’s grandkids. If she suspected even a hint of a raw deal, the first words out of her mouth were, “If anyone messes with you, you just tell me and I’ll give ‘em hell.”

Along with cavities, Grandma could also be partially responsible for any of her grandkids’ salty language.

It was difficult for Grandma Phyl to watch us grow up and move into college and to cities and careers where she couldn’t keep up. For all of our life, she wasn’t just used to keeping up; she was used to leading. In her 50s, we were Sweatin’ to the Oldies with Richard Simmons in her living room. In her 60s, she led line dancing lessons in the basement, the floor slicked up with corn starch, a tape player blaring and a binder full of instructions in her hand. At 66, she strapped herself into a harness next to Andrea and was launched more than 100 stories into the air on top of the Stratosphere hotel in Las Vegas. In her late 60s, she hooked on a life jacket and hopped into a tube to be pulled behind Grandpa’s boat. At our senior prom, she wasn’t content to take photos beforehand. No, she showed up at the actual dance and marched right in, Grandpa dragging along behind.

If her grandkids were there, she was there. Period.

The last couple of years have been tough on Grandma Phyl and on those who loved her. It is a terrible thing to watch a loved one’s mind go while their body stays put. In some ways, we have been in mourning for quite some time. Today, though, we can rest knowing that she is no longer struggling. And now it is our turn to remember and rebuild Grandma Phyl’s traditions and legacies that have shaped our lives. While she is no longer with us, we will certainly remember what she taught us…

Life is for enjoying. Food is for indulging, music is for dancing, money is for spending… and most importantly of all, family is for loving.

Posted by Aaron on March 18, 2007 8:46 PM