For My Grandma

You had this habit of saying, "Hiya, Kid!" and grabbing us grandkids by the back of the neck. It kind of hurt, but we didn't mind.

You were the ultimate grandma in so many ways--you always had Snickers in the fridge, and you were a hell of a cook. Cheeseburgers and lasagna were your specialty, even though you didn't like cheese (I often wondered how we were even related!).

You gave the world's worst Christmas presents--but the fact that you were consistent made your presents some of the most looked-forward to.

I always looked forward to your visits, even when I was in Kindergarten and you were visiting Germany all the way from Florida. We always had an ancient electric blanket that came out only when Grandma visited. You could never handle the cold, but the pictures of you bundled up in my dad's winter coat are priceless. And numerous.

You took my brother and I to the beach, which must have been so frustrating, because we were definitely indoor kids who got sick of the beach within 20 minutes. So you'd take us home, fix us dinner on TV trays, and we'd watch Charlie's Angels on the couch. You made everything special.

When you got sick, and finally had to go into the nursing home, you would hallucinate that you were babysitting me and my brother--even though we were both over 30. I can't tell you how guilty that makes me feel. I'm sorry I was a long-distance granddaughter.

One time when you were visiting, when I was around 10, my Dad was participating in some kind of cross-dressing fundraiser pageant at church. He borrowed your bra, which he proceeded to fill with giant pinecones and wear. You were happy to help. I love that my dad and I got that stupid sense of humor from you.

Like I said, you were a hell of a cook. One time, Jeremy and I came to visit on our way to Disney World. You asked, "Are you hungry?" I said we'd eaten already, to which you responded, "There's a ham in the fridge." And no, not ham slices...an actual entire ham. And you were still surprised when we didn't eat it.

You lost your parents when you were young; you would never talk about it. and I regret not pushing you harder. But in later years you were happy to talk about my Grandpa, who died when I was 4. You truly were the "greatest generation." He was in the Army Air Corps, and would have been sent to Okinawa if he hadn't have been involved in a serious crash in Columbia, SC during a practice mission. And still, he and the pilot, who was his buddy, posed for these ridiculous pictures in their full body casts--with the bellies cut out, because it was summer in Miami and, of course, incredibly hot. He went to U of Miami on the GI bill, and when he graduated, my dad and his twin sister were in the audience. "That's my daddy!" my dad apparently called out. If I had a time machine, that's one of the moments I'd travel back to.

The last time I visited, you were lucid, but couldn't hear (you'd been deaf for a long time). The rest of us were looking up at a light fixture, talking about how someone had hooked it up so that furniture could be moved around. All you saw was your family looking up at something, and so you asked, "What is everyone looking at?" And even when it must have been so frustrating to not be a part of the conversation, you still got the joke.

I love you, Grandma.