I can still picture her face to this day. She had short golden hair, with blue eyes like mine. She had a smile that would melt anger, and a heart that could warm a room. She was a beauty queen of the 40’s, a WWII housewife, and mother of four very different girls. Her name was Margaret. She was my grandmother, and she really was beautiful.
She died a month before I turned four, and four months before my oldest sister’s wedding. She was healthy one day, and the next day in a diabetic coma. After a day in a coma, she woke to say goodbye, telling everyone that her sister Rita was there to travel with her. Rita had died at age 30, three decades before, of a brain aneurysm. Grandma told Grandpa that he needed to make sure her bag was packed for the trip. Grandma Marge’s death came so quickly that my family was left in shock and chaos.
I remember sitting on the family room couch of my Ohio home, in 1991, with my mother. I remember her tears and cries were filled with such immense pain, that a four year old would obviously not understand. I asked her if I should cry to. Mommy said, “ You can cry if you feel like it.” I didn’t. Grandma’s funeral was calm and quiet, from what I remember. Two of my cousins, both four and five years old, and I walked up to her casket alone to say goodbye. They both gave her kisses and talked to her. I was the quiet one. I was too afraid to say goodbye, because I really did not know what that meant. As a child, I did not understand why she left us.
Not long after the funeral, my mother and I began visiting my grandparents house. Grandpa had begun to drown himself in the Masonic Lodge and his lumber business, so the house stood without life. Mommy and I would walk into the house, loudly yelling upstairs, “Hello Grandma! We’re here!” Believe it or not, that comforted me knowing that she was still with us, only in a different way. Her brush was in the same place, her perfume bottles went untouched, and her clothes still had her smell lingering on them. Mom and I would open her closets and take handfuls of dresses and press them to our noses. It may sound odd, but we loved her that much.
Not long ago, Professor Cox mentioned something about how childhood grief can come back and hit you in adulthood. Well, this past year, I was slapped with an overwhelming sense of grief. Everything I write about, is about her or the things she loved most- butterflies.
My mother eventually introduced me to Corrina, Corrina at a young age. I sympathized with Molly. I even went through a similar grief process that she went through. To this day, I still try to blow out the red lights. In a way, I sound crazy, but really, it is just something that has comforted me and help me cope with things that I learned at a very young age.
I’m sorry I wrote “a book”. I could go on and on, but I know it may be too much for a blog. If you have any similar stories that you could share, that would be great. Are you dealing with repressed childhood grief like I am?
Thank you for sharing such a personal account from childhood. Your grandmother sounds like a wonderful and caring woman. I very much enjoyed watching Corrina, Corrina as it seemed to showcase that it isn't a flaw to grieve for those we have loved and lost, but instead as natural as listening to a music record. I'm glad you were able to relate to Molly's character on such a personal level. Your mother seemed to understand how to really help you get through the situation at your young age by keeping you involved and helping you to remember your grandmother. I myself did not had to deal with such a loss during my childhood but I know that with my mother I would have the support system I'd greatly need.
ReplyDelete