I've been talking to my dead grandmother a lot lately.
I've been talking to my dead grandmother a lot lately.
Or, more specifically, I’ve been talking out loud to myself during my daily commute and pretending that I’m talking to her. She died last August. I hadn’t lived even remotely close to her in almost 20 years, and saw her once or twice a year for most of that time (less, recently, what with the pandemic and all), and so I was quite surprised by the gaping hole her death left in my life.
I used to call her pretty regularly on my way home from work…
and as the time passes and we inch up on a whole year of her being gone, I find myself thinking “I wish I could call Grandma right now” almost every day. I am, as it turns out, somewhat lonely without her.
That’s not to say I don’t have friends - because I do. I consider myself lucky to be a mom, not a martyr, and to have plenty of time with friends. It’s also not to say that I don’t talk to my husband, because I do that too (although as co-parents to a preschooler, we don’t really talk about things other than our child as often as we should). I am hashtag “blessed” with a great community - friends, family, coworkers, etc. - who I can talk to about almost anything.
But I am learning, more and more everyday, that Grandma was my safe place.
We didn’t always agree.
In fact, we often didn’t. Grandma was a mom of five, an army brat and then an army wife, a cradle Catholic, from TEXAS. She was a strict mother and a strict Catholic, and she flew the American flag outside of her home every day of her life. If that doesn’t tell you everything you need to know about her politics, I don’t know what would. But she was also fiercely and proudly independent and she wanted the whole wide world for her granddaughters. As Grandma she let us come to her, as we were and without judgment. As Grandma she championed every opportunity that came our way, even if it were one she wouldn’t have taken herself. And as Grandma, she made sure we knew her house was our home, and we were welcome in it just as we were.
The house is still there. But she’s not… and so I find myself treading water, unmoored. Who can I talk to? Who can I pour out my soul to who will just accept it, hold it gently, and allow me to lay it down while I rest?
Sharing is caring… and so is listening without judgment.
Grandma and I talked a little and a lot about everything - politics (national, local, and yes, even office), marriage, books and movies, history, the fleeting magic of childhood... there were few topics off limits and no rules of engagement other than to be polite and to listen with love. She wasn’t trying to persuade me, nor I her. We took each other at face value and said, in not so many words, come as you are! You are welcome here! And more often than not, without explicitly seeking it out, we found ourselves on common ground in spite of our distance and differences.
And that’s what I plan to do here. To build a virtual home, a place where you and I both can share what’s on our minds and hearts, whether that’s the news of the day, funny things our kids did, or existential questions about the meaning of life. I’m not here to sell you anything, to focus on any particular subject, or to embrace any particular point of view. I’m just here to share… and to listen.