Re-Post For My Grandma

Four years ago December 3, my grandmother died at age 97. By anyone’s measure she lived a full and useful life and was greatly loved by four generations of my family. I also loved her dearly.

Following my mother’s death in 1995, my grandmother and I gravitated toward each other, I suspect because I wanted to be near the part of her that was my mother and she wanted the same from me. We talked nearly every week for the rest of her life and I discovered even more in common with her and relished our talks. She especially liked to talk about my mother and often repeated the wonderful deathbed conversation she and my mother had when they closed the books on a lifetime of misunderstanding. Since I liked to talk about my mother too, I was always there to oblige. She buried a husband, three children and countless friends and relatives before she died and each time you thought this would be too much for her, she dug deep to find more strength to carry on. She would just tell me it’s what happens when you live so long. The fact is, she loved life and never wanted to leave.

She had a project going all the time, which I think was partially responsible for her longevity (along with a sip of whiskey more often than she would admit). One year she would plan to paint the house, the next year to put in new carpet, and perhaps the next year it would be new window treatments. She always had something to look forward too.

When her husband died in December 1983 she visited my parents for Christmas. She looked so frail when she arrived, we all believed she wouldn’t last long. It was a bittersweet Christmas as it felt like we would lose both grandparents in the span of a few months. She surprised us all. My aunt bought her a puppy a short while later, believing she would get it back in a few years, but my grandmother stubbornly outlived the dog.

When we would visit, she would show off a ring or a bracelet. She would tell us it was a birthday present from her husband, the same one who had been gone for a decade. She actually went out and picked out the piece of jewelry she suspected he would buy for her, wrapped it up and gave it to herself on her birthday or Christmas, always with a wry smile and telling us "look what Bill bought me."

She also always felt and acted younger than her age. She was an avid bridge player and sharp as a tack so she always kept score (regrettably not allowing me to cheat). She knew what cards you were holding and was the first to tell you if you were leading from your hand or the dummy. When playing with her local bridge club, she complained that the people were just too old; despite the fact most were 10-20 years younger.

Once she told me the reason her husband was bald on the top of his head was because he kept hitting his head on the backboard of their bed (you youngins may have to think about that one for a bit). Never one to care what people thought of her, she also went out and bought what she called “stretchy pants” with stirrups that were meant for teens and proudly had her picture taken in them.

She had a lot of money but you would never know it. She and her best friend, the wife of the founder of K-Mart, used to go shopping every Wednesday. Too often they came back with nothing, complaining they would never spend more than $1 for a good pair of underwear. She actually was so cheap that she had a dual headstone made for her and her husband. Because she got a better deal for each letter, she had the cemetery chisel in her lifespan as 1904 -19_ _, not thinking she would make it into the 21st Century. I used to love to tease her about the fact she would live beyond her expectations and it would cost her more to knock off the 19 part. I’m happy to say she had that problem.

Because she had lived such a long life, I once asked her what she thought was the greatest invention or achievement in her lifetime. Now I would have said Saran Wrap and given a thought to the airplane, computer, or landing on the moon, but she quickly answered “penicillin” because she knew how many lives it saved. Her generation was never about collecting new toys and technological inventions, but about making the life of others more comfortable and better.

Most people who live that long have some slip in mental acuity. She never did. I once asked her why and she told me it was because she read five or six hours every day and it kept her mind sharp. Her mental alertness may have ultimately made her death more frustrating.

She fell one day in late November of 2001 and broke her hip. Five days later she died from being in the hospital, hooked up to tubes and well-aware of what was happening around her. She didn’t fear death, but as with all things in her life, I think she wanted a say in how she died. I doubt she was ready to go that day and was probably pretty ticked-off that she wasn’t home baking pies. My relatives never told me she was in the hospital and I never had a chance to tell her good-bye or say how much I loved her and what she meant to me. Alice Brosier, if you’re looking over my shoulder today, I want you to know I love you so much and miss you every day.