Things I miss about Grandma
I miss lunches and dinners out at restaurants that were not dictated by grandmas culinary cravings, but instead by where she had a coupon for that week.
I miss her hugs. When she hugged you, she was so present, so there, as though that hug was the only thing that mattered in the world and she was loving you with every fiber of her being.
I miss her fearlessness. When I’d come to her with an anxious worry, she’d tell me “nawwwww, you’ll be fine.” It wasn’t dismissive. She meant it. She was not afraid and she didn’t want me to be either.
I miss her saying “that’s life” when something sad would happen. Sometimes she said it straightforward and calm, and sometimes she’d say it and her voice would crack, as she was holding back tears and trying not to cry. She knew from experience that life was filled with grief and hope and sadness and joy and that we couldn’t experience one of those feelings without the others and hoped to instill us with the same strength to deal with the hard times.
I miss her proud smile. She had a great smile, but at graduations, birthdays, weddings, “nachas” as she would say, her eyes would light up was a particular sparkle of pride that was beyond beautiful.
I miss her banana cakes. I preferred them without the lemon drizzle, but to each their own. I loved eating a fresh one at her house, and then being sent home with a frozen banana cake, along with a bag full of groceries. I wish I had an unlimited freezer filled with a lifetime supply of grandmas banana cake. I tried many times to recreate the recipe, and everytime I’d tell her of my failed attempt, she’d remind me that hers was made with love. Her love was unique and deep and unwavering and it made the cake delicious beyond what words can describe.
I miss our summers at the library and at Maureen Zobers pool.
I miss her house dresses and aprons and the way she hung a small plastic bag on the stove for her trash.
I miss her independence. After grandpa died, she lived alone, took out her garbage, fended off alleged burglars with a broom, managed her home, her finances, and skillfully carved the turkey at Thanksgiving, micromanaging my fathers carving abilities one year when he wasn’t doing a good enough job.
I miss Fourth of July. Sitting in her backyard watching the fireworks and eating her bbq chicken. I have always been intimidated by bbqing, but not grandma. The woman was fearless.
I miss grandma telling me I needed a sweater or Mae needed socks on, even in the height of summer when it was triple digits outside.
I miss the way I felt when I was with her. The way she made us all feel. We were special, loved, safe, brilliant (because in her words, “all her kids were smart and there were no dummies in our family.”) she asked about our friends and school and jobs and vacations because she loved us so much and our lives meant so much to her.
I miss her excitement about coupons and deals at Ralph’s. Her OG environmentalism of reusing everything and not letting one thing go to waste - cream cheese containers became doggy bags for leftovers. Plastic bags from the market for produce became freezer bags for kreplech.
I miss her exclamation to “light em all” on Hanukkah. Whatever night we celebrated Hanukkah as a whole family, we lit all 8 candles of the menorah, as she declared that was “the prettiest”.
I miss the way she pronounced “pragnent” and “soya sauce”
I miss hearing her answer the phone “yallo Bubbe” and feel an extraordinary gratitude that my mom began answering the phone like that in her honor a few years ago when grandma no longer answered the phone herself.
I miss her fun stories of Alan riding in his “vanagan” VW bus, family trips to Yosemite, and the time she and Gwen made clam chowder in paint buckets.
I miss her friends. Gwen and Idele and Harriet and Maureen and Betty.
I miss how much she loved my daughter. How she cried when she learned I was “pragnant”. The first time she met Mae at my house. All the opportunities we had to take 4 generation photos, with her, my mom, me and Mae. The way she played ball with Mae, hid figurines in the grass, rolled balls of play doh, fed her cookies. I wish she got more time with all her great grandchildren, and was able to meet the one on the way, but I know that we will all fill our children with stories of grandmas love, and love them fiercely and unconditionally, just like she did with us.
I miss it all. I feel grateful she was on this earth for so many years. I’m grateful for the incredible love she had with grandpa John. I’m grateful that she’s free from suffering and pain. But I will always miss everything about her.
I miss lunches and dinners out at restaurants that were not dictated by grandmas culinary cravings, but instead by where she had a coupon for that week.
I miss her hugs. When she hugged you, she was so present, so there, as though that hug was the only thing that mattered in the world and she was loving you with every fiber of her being.
I miss her fearlessness. When I’d come to her with an anxious worry, she’d tell me “nawwwww, you’ll be fine.” It wasn’t dismissive. She meant it. She was not afraid and she didn’t want me to be either.
I miss her saying “that’s life” when something sad would happen. Sometimes she said it straightforward and calm, and sometimes she’d say it and her voice would crack, as she was holding back tears and trying not to cry. She knew from experience that life was filled with grief and hope and sadness and joy and that we couldn’t experience one of those feelings without the others and hoped to instill us with the same strength to deal with the hard times.
I miss her proud smile. She had a great smile, but at graduations, birthdays, weddings, “nachas” as she would say, her eyes would light up was a particular sparkle of pride that was beyond beautiful.
I miss her banana cakes. I preferred them without the lemon drizzle, but to each their own. I loved eating a fresh one at her house, and then being sent home with a frozen banana cake, along with a bag full of groceries. I wish I had an unlimited freezer filled with a lifetime supply of grandmas banana cake. I tried many times to recreate the recipe, and everytime I’d tell her of my failed attempt, she’d remind me that hers was made with love. Her love was unique and deep and unwavering and it made the cake delicious beyond what words can describe.
I miss our summers at the library and at Maureen Zobers pool.
I miss her house dresses and aprons and the way she hung a small plastic bag on the stove for her trash.
I miss her independence. After grandpa died, she lived alone, took out her garbage, fended off alleged burglars with a broom, managed her home, her finances, and skillfully carved the turkey at Thanksgiving, micromanaging my fathers carving abilities one year when he wasn’t doing a good enough job.
I miss Fourth of July. Sitting in her backyard watching the fireworks and eating her bbq chicken. I have always been intimidated by bbqing, but not grandma. The woman was fearless.
I miss grandma telling me I needed a sweater or Mae needed socks on, even in the height of summer when it was triple digits outside.
I miss the way I felt when I was with her. The way she made us all feel. We were special, loved, safe, brilliant (because in her words, “all her kids were smart and there were no dummies in our family.”) she asked about our friends and school and jobs and vacations because she loved us so much and our lives meant so much to her.
I miss her excitement about coupons and deals at Ralph’s. Her OG environmentalism of reusing everything and not letting one thing go to waste - cream cheese containers became doggy bags for leftovers. Plastic bags from the market for produce became freezer bags for kreplech.
I miss her exclamation to “light em all” on Hanukkah. Whatever night we celebrated Hanukkah as a whole family, we lit all 8 candles of the menorah, as she declared that was “the prettiest”.
I miss the way she pronounced “pragnent” and “soya sauce”
I miss hearing her answer the phone “yallo Bubbe” and feel an extraordinary gratitude that my mom began answering the phone like that in her honor a few years ago when grandma no longer answered the phone herself.
I miss her fun stories of Alan riding in his “vanagan” VW bus, family trips to Yosemite, and the time she and Gwen made clam chowder in paint buckets.
I miss her friends. Gwen and Idele and Harriet and Maureen and Betty.
I miss how much she loved my daughter. How she cried when she learned I was “pragnant”. The first time she met Mae at my house. All the opportunities we had to take 4 generation photos, with her, my mom, me and Mae. The way she played ball with Mae, hid figurines in the grass, rolled balls of play doh, fed her cookies. I wish she got more time with all her great grandchildren, and was able to meet the one on the way, but I know that we will all fill our children with stories of grandmas love, and love them fiercely and unconditionally, just like she did with us.
I miss it all. I feel grateful she was on this earth for so many years. I’m grateful for the incredible love she had with grandpa John. I’m grateful that she’s free from suffering and pain. But I will always miss everything about her.
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