Dear Granny.

Written April, 30th 2023:

Dear Granny,

I am writing you this letter today because you have left your earthly body behind and gone wherever you believed you might go. I had a conversation with my dad recently, unfortunately after a different funeral in which he told me that you weren’t doing so well. The way he was describing your decline reminded me a lot of those days with gramps when I was in college. I rushed to tell my Dad in the midst of everything that he was telling me that I would be more than happy to care for you if you needed it. I envisioned you living with me someday. So I could care for you in the same ways that you cared for me. To repay you for your exceptional love and kindness. You loved him so of course you cared for him in all of those ways, mostly completely by yourself because Gramps couldn’t stand most of the nurses you tried to hire to help out. He was so connected to you, so dependent on you. When I received a phone call this morning from my dad I knew something was wrong. It’s interesting how you can always tell, isn’t it? I knew he was going to tell me that you were gone before he even said it. My grief for you has barely begun but I know you Granny. I know you valued your independence above all else and I can only imagine that when you noticed your health starting to decline in the ways that it was you probably couldn’t stand to lose that independence so you probably made the decision to let go.

Just like the grief I experienced only a month ago, our moments together are flashing through my mind. You were my grandparent but you were also a parent to me. Often, parenting me in ways that nobody else could have. I can see us at the card table at the ranch playing cards before bed and playing cards so often with gramps. During his time with dementia he would often forget the rules of the card games and you would just teach him every time like it wasn’t the hundredth time you’d had to do it. I can smell the tacos you used to make me and the way you taught me to harden up the shell with olive oil. Your famous enchiladas. The pasta you used to make me with the tri-color rotini and freshly shaved parmesan cheese. I can see us at your house, you helping me with my laundry when I was in college, bemoaning about the fact that I somehow always had lost a sock (or two) and watching Wheel of Fortune then Jeopardy in front of the tv while we folded. I remember you used to come check on my cats for me when I went out of town for a few days. I can see you getting frustrated with my Dad for following you around the kitchen cleaning up after you, reminding him that it was your house and you could clean up after yourself. You lived in the home that was my home. A home I shared with my mother. My time spent there being some of my happiest memories I’ve ever had. I was devastated when you and Dad decided to sell that home because of what it meant to me. I was also sad to see you go. Sad to see you move so far away after being such a constant in my life for so long. I loved how close we were during those years I was in college. Trauma forced me into your arms in more ways than one and you welcomed me without question. You knew on some level that I was making a lot of mistakes but you never lectured me about any of it. You just supported me, no matter what. Gramps did too. That time spent with the two of you were the most special and sacred and also difficult years of my life. I honestly don’t know if I could’ve survived those years without you.

I remember you sharing your love of trader joes with me. I tried to go there today after I heard that you were gone and I just stood there and stared at everything. People noticing me probably wondering what was going on in my head. You went there so often that the employees knew you. So much so that when you had your first vertigo scare that they came to your aid to help you. You spent time with my Mom’s mom. Went to Ducks games together. You loved that school and that city. I remember watching you come back to life after gramps passed. Achieving things that most people cannot do when they’re in their eighties. The things you instilled in me will never leave. You always used to tell me “It’s all about attitude”. You approached Gramps decline with a smile on your face. You knew there was nothing that could’ve been done to reverse what was happening to him and you just simply accepted him as he was in that moment, just like you accepted me. You taught me to find joy in grief. To find togetherness in loss. You taught me that I was worth loving no matter what. You showed me that. You taught me to not take life so seriously. I have a few memories of gramps that really stick out to me. One is a time where I had come over to your house and gramps walked up behind me in the kitchen and tapped me on the shoulder, I turned around to see him there and he said, “If you have a car here, you should get in it, and leave.” I just smiled back at him, remembering what you taught me, and told him nice try, I’m not going anywhere. I remember him walking by the mirror in the hallway one afternoon and coming in to the kitchen to grab an extra set of plates for the table and setting them down accordingly. We looked at each-other and back at him. “Isn’t that other guy going to eat with us?”, he mentioned after seeing his own reflection in the mirror. We would just laugh and go along with it. I will never forget him screaming “Beeeeeettttyyyyy” any time he was nervous or unsure. He couldn’t have made it without you, just like I couldn’t have. You never made him feel scared or uncomfortable about the changes he was going through, just gave him what he needed. Even when all he would eat was goat milk yogurt and chocolate you just bought it for him. We gave each-other what we needed. I hope you looked back on those times of us together and think of them in the same ways that I do.

I remember how much you took pride in the fact that I finished college. So much so that you looked at me and said, “Well, now that you’ve got a degree, there isn’t anything you could do that would upset me” I laughed at that because it was so you. You came to my graduate school graduation as well. I’m so happy that I get to look back on those times in my life and see your face. I remember the way you called me “darlin”, the hand written cards you sent me on every birthday, the way your hands looked and felt. I am very sad that we drifted apart after you moved to Texas but I tried my best to keep in touch. You know how it is, life gets busy. I hope you were still proud of me. I hope you know how much you saved my life when I was in college. I hope you know how much you meant to me and continue to mean to me and how much I will always love you. How much your teachings are part of who I am and how I will continue to move through the world for the rest of my days. I wanted so desperately to have children before you died just so you could meet them. It breaks my heart that I wasn’t able to do that. I already miss you so much.

The thing I remember most about you is your strength. The type of person who could have a hip replacement in older age and recover almost immediately to join dance competitions. The type of person who could have a major heart attack and just be fine the next day. The type of person who took care of their sick husband on their own until the day he died. The type of person who could put their feelings aside and just love you no matter what. You were tough but fair. Direct and loving at the same time.You gave me and all of us so many gifts. I am so honored to be your grandchild and to have known you at all.

I want to say that the world won’t be the same without you but I know you wouldn’t want me to. I will remember you as you were and for all that you were.

Goodbye for now,

Brittney