"Grandmas hold our tiny hands for just a little while, but our hearts forever." - Author Unknown
Wise
words indeed. Those close to me - be it a family member or close friend
- know how large of a portion of my heart is reserved for my
Grandmother. She is in many ways responsible for a lot of the mannerisms
and traits that I exude to this day. A wealth of knowledge, wisdom,
understanding, care, honesty and love was always in abundant display
whenever my Grandmother was around. Many of us are only able to visit
our grandparents during holidays and special family gatherings. Some of
us make that random visit and end up staying well into the next day. I
even know of a few of my friends that don't really have the best
relationship with their grandparents; leaving them feeling awkward
whenever they visit. I've even spoken to a few of my friends that claim
to only visit their grandparents when they feel that it is absolutely
necessary to do so. To this day, I remind them how important that person
is to their life and how important they may be to their grandparent's
life. It is a bond that I won't soon let go of and surely have never and
will never regret for as long as I live.
The
connection between a grandparent and a child is a very special one
indeed. It is different from any other bond in the fact that although we
as people carry the potential to learn from each other every day, the
gems of insight and wisdom swapped between a grandparent and child take
place with a higher degree of frequency than most other bonds forged in
my opinion. To be honest, I believe that the young mind and that of an
elderly person are the two minds that would be more receptive to reason
and possibility than the thought processes of anyone in between these
two. I know that most people deemed older in age have the "Set In Their
Ways" stigma attached to them; and that statement is proven true to some
extent. What most people often never realize, however is that most of
that "Out-Of-The-Box" thinking that we do is a result of conversing that
has taken place with our grandparents. That along with the lessons we
are taught and the answers that are divulged when we have tried just
about everything else that we could think of is usually a direct result
of the wisdom imparted to us by our grandparents.
Lend some thought to this process and determine whether or not it makes sense to you:
The
grandparent answers as many inquiries as he/she can that are provided
to them by the child; broadening that child's mind and teaching the
child invaluable skills along the lines of consideration for others,
deduction, examination, experimentation and many other skills and traits
that we often take for granted as adults; especially while using these
gifts on a daily basis.
The
child lends help to the memory of the grandparent; who in turn recounts
fond portions of his/her childhood and how similar or differential
things were in comparison. This recollection leads to some of the most
wholesome, entertaining and sometimes even humorous stories that we as
children have been told by our grandparents; and there is usually a
nugget or three of wisdom along with a few morals in each story.
Makes
more sense now, I presume. Both share a large amount of receptiveness;
therefore allowing each other to teach the other something; whether that
lesson be received in lieu of a question asked or a story told in fond
memory.
This
highly resembles the relationship that my Grandmother and I have
shared. We actually had so close of a relationship that if it had not
been for the glaring difference in our age, one would presume that she
was my Mother in some regard.
My
Grandmother owned a "shotgun double" fashioned house in Uptown New
Orleans, Louisiana. Around the time of my birth, my Mother was living on
one side of the house and my Grandmother stayed on the other side. My
Mother and Grandmother didn't have the best relationship; which was
something that often befuddled me in my youth. I couldn't conceive how
two people that seemed so much alike could possibly oppose each other as
vehemently as my Mother and Grandmother did. There were a number of
arguments and they hardly ever pulled any punches when it came to the
other person's feelings. It was rather heart breaking to watch as a
young boy; mainly because I often felt like I was stuck in the middle of
it even when they both would assure me that I wasn't. I never felt
responsible for their disliking of each other; but it was hard to ignore
that I felt as if I would have to make a choice one day between the
two.
That
choice along with a number of other things that have happened in my
youth as early as ten years of age are why one would often hear me claim
to have been robbed of a considerable portion of my childhood. Although
I have many times stated this in a joking manner, I have always
seriously believed this to have happened. I believe that this may have
served as a blessing and a curse for me.
Go figure...
My
Mother moved out of my Grandmother's house when I was a little older
than ten; leaving my five year old brother and I to decide whether or
not we wanted to go with her or stay with our Grandmother. Many people
at this time perceived this decision by my Mother as a cruel and
unloving act; believing that we shouldn't have been placed in the
position to make a decision one way or another. My Grandmother shared
this concern.
As
I have grown, however I have gained a better understanding of why my
Mother did this. She didn't want to leave; but she couldn't ignore the
considerable toll that the fights between her and my Grandmother took on
my Brother and I. She also knew how close we were to our Grandmother
and did not want to break that bond, either. Suffice it to say, my
Mother's decision to leave was in many ways considered more high risk
than high reward. There was always the potential to have lost us
completely to our Grandmother. This is not in the sense of possession
but rather in the sense of allegiance and trust.
The
close relationship that my Mother and I have today is just as strong as
the one I shared with my Grandmother as a child, though; and that is
definitely something to thank God for.
I spent much of my youth well into my teen years caring for my Grandmother and little brother. A lot of the upkeep and cooking skills that I put to use nowadays comes from what I was taught in my youth by my Grandmother. Keep in mind that this was during a time when I was still riding the bus to and from school, doing homework and projects and still managing to get chores done around the house.
I had quite the exciting childhood.
I never griped, however. I felt that I really had no reason to; especially since my Grandmother's health was declining steadily. She suffered with Diabetes; so I quickly became familiar with her insulin regimen; issuing it to her twice daily(this is the best explanation for me having no fear of needles) and making sure that there was chocolate and juice on hand for whenever she experienced one of her episodes. This was a rather arduous time in my life to say the very least. There were nights when I wasn't necessarily sure if she was okay or not; so I would sit by her side and even leave my room to sleep next to her for fear of her getting sick and not being able to call for me.
Come to think of it, that would explain my insomnia; but I digress.
My teenage years saw me undergo a considerable spike in my maturity as a young man; and by the time I was seventeen, I found myself having to make yet another rough decision. Arguments and various disagreements surfaced between my Grandmother and I; many of them too emotional to willfully recall. Neither of us wanted to acknowledge or even accept it; but I was outgrowing both my surroundings and her style of parenting. The one thing that really remained intact was her guidance; but for all the times that we would spend together learning from each other, there were just as many arguments if not more.
It became fully apparent that it was time for me to leave; so shortly after graduating high school, I moved out of her house and went to live with my Mother. My Brother tagged along as well, of course. It was very hard for me to do; but I felt at the time that it was necessary. She would not be home alone, of course: my Uncles were there to look after her; many of them living there while my Brother and I were still there.
There was a brief back and forth between my Grandmother and Mother about my decision to leave; but all was laid to rest soon thereafter. I began to notice how much of an influence she was to me as I seamlessly applied certain practices and habits that were cultivated while living with my Grandmother. My Mother told me often that if her Mother gave me nothing else, she definitely gave me structure. That was always evident and apparent to her.
My Grandmother was a very, very proud woman. It was her very essence. Her zeal, if you will. She was in many ways one of the cornerstones of my Mother's side of the family. She always knew what to say, when to say it, how to say it and how it would affect the person she would tell it to. She never was one for pulling punches when it came to telling the truth; and she didn't believe in withholding the truth for the sake of one's emotional protection. There were a number of quotes and sayings that even to this day stand in front of me clear as the new day; but this one definitely strikes with great poignancy:
"I'm not gonna hide the truth from anyone. Hell, people have been hiding from the truth for years. The truth can walk around and never feel threatened. That's the problem."
She's a strong one for sure.
During Hurricane Katrina, we went back to her house to get her out of it as the roof was completely torn off of the house and the foundation was sure to crumble eventually. She was initially very stubborn; refusing to leave the house that her and my Grandfather worked so hard to acquire; but we were eventually able to coerce her into leaving; assuring her that it was for her own safety. It was the best decision for sure as we found out later on after the entire city flooded that her area of the neighborhood was completely submerged regardless of how high the houses were. We were able to regulate her medicine and supplies until we were able to exit the city days later; meeting in Baton Rouge with relatives that took us to LaPlace, Louisiana for the remainder of the year until the city was safe for return. While there, her health took a critical turn for the worse; especially after learning that one of my Uncles had drowned not far from her residence. Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Years passed by while my Grandmother spent the rest of the year in a medical facility.
Once January arrived, we found ourselves ready to pack and return home. Not long after returning, we placed her in hospice back home in New Orleans where she was under treatment constantly; but there was no substantial or even minuscule improvement in her health at all.
My Grandmother was born on March 13th. She didn't make it to her birthday the following year after the storm; passing away early February 2006 while still in hospice. I believe I slept and cried that entire day. That was the only day that I really felt any pain from that occurrence, though. The following weekend was her funeral. My Mother and I prepared the programs, arranged the service and made sure that everyone who could possibly make it to the service was there.
I wanted to deliver her eulogy; electing to do so in the form of a poem. I couldn't shed a tear. I felt that familiar comfort that only she were able to impart to me as I read each stanza. The light from the mosaics shined bright and brilliant as I continued to read. Amid a church filled with misty eyes and people shouting, I found solace in knowing that this amazing woman that I have looked up to, marveled after and cared for my entire life up to that very point could finally rest.
The program in its entirety was placed on a plaque that currently shares the same room as my Grandmother: Per her request, we had her cremated and she now sits in the living room of my Mother's house.
Although it isn't the same piece that I read at her funeral, here is the link to my Poetry blog for a piece in wrote December 2nd, 2010 in memory of her entitled "The Kitchen Table":
http://thirstforinspiration.blogspot.com/2010/12/kitchen-table.html
I never got to meet my Grandfather, unfortunately. He disappeared a few years before I was born. From what I gathered from my Grandmother, Mother and other members of my family that knew him well, he was always rather demure and thoughtful; remaining calm through most anything until he observed someone distraught or vexed by something. He is often described as "one who wore a cape that no one ever saw;" implying that he wanted to solve everyone's issues. I can certainly share that trait. It wasn't until I finally accepted that I can't save everyone that I actually found some solace in just doing the very best that I can no matter the outcome.
One or two of my Uncles recall him being a big flirt; which I find very humorous as one of the two who happened to share this with me is quite the womanizer himself. As far as I'm concerned, I'll take my lumps for being a flirt of sorts; but I am in no regard a womanizer.
Don't look at me like that...
My Grandfather served in the Vietnam War; returning home in 1975. From those closest to him, he was evidently shell-shocked from what he experienced in combat. This took a seemingly irreversible toll on his psyche; which coupled with Alzheimer's disease only complicated matters further. He underwent stints of violent behavior then substantial memory loss; all while suffering seizures and nightmares in spells. Ever devoted, my Grandmother did what she could to take care of him in his dilapidated state; hoping that his faculties would improve at some point.
In a recurrent conversing that I've had with my Grandmother, she stated that she knew that he may never return to the man that she knew before the war; but she always held out hope. When I inquired about his death, she stated that he left home one day and never returned. She asked around the neighborhood about him and even got the police involved in a search for him; but there were no leads regarding his whereabouts. I recall her saying that the police did find a body that they took to the morgue that fit the description that she gave them. She stated, however that when she went to view the body, she had not recognized the man as her husband. To this day, only my Grandmother really knows the truth about what happened to my Grandfather. I believe she may actually know and just refuses to recount said events; which I completely understand. My Grandmother took this bit of the unsolved to her grave.
Aside from the tragic, I've been told wonderful stories by my relatives regarding my Grandfather. Many of them I've compiled into a piece that I wrote about him on September 21st, 2011 entitled "The Man I Never Met." The link is below:
http://thirstforinspiration.blogspot.com/2011/09/man-i-never-met.html
Grandparents are those irreplaceable, undeniable, truly valued people in our lives that affect us in so many different ways. Grandparents are our link to the past; revealing to us reasons for why we are inclined to lead our lives in manners of our choosing. Very little of what we are as individuals is purely coincidental or a direct result of circumstance. There is an explanation for a considerable amount of what we delve into in our daily lives; and more often than not, the answers to why we are, what we are, what we do , why we do it and so many other inquiries rest within relatives of earlier descent; especially our grandparents. They love like no one ever could, cook better than anyone you'll ever eat from, understand the complexities of our lives thoroughly and seem to be masterful at helping us reach that very understanding for ourselves. No great feat, rare treasure or large amassing of any kind could ever hold a light to what my Grandmother means to me. She is my constant in a life filled with variables. She was that drink of cool water when life appeared determined to run me ragged.
I Love You, Grandmother. I can still see that smile that would fill an entire room with warmth and comfort.Rest well. <3
"Grandma's Hands" by Bill Withers
Grandma's hands clapped in church on Sunday morning.
Grandma's hands played the tambourine so well.
Grandma's hands used to issue out a warning,
She'd say, “Billy don't you run so fast,
Might fall on a piece of glass,
Might be snakes there in that grass,”
Grandma's hands.
Grandma's hands sooth the local unwed mother
Grandma's hands used to ache sometimes and swell
Grandma's hands used to lift her face and tell her,
She'd say, “Baby Grandma understands,
That you really loved that man,
Put yourself in Jesus' hands.”
Grandma's Hands.
Grandma's hands used to hand me piece of candy.
Grandma's hands picked me up each time I fell.
Grandma's hands, boy the really came in handy
She'd say, “ Mattie don't you whip that boy.
What you want to spank him for?
He didn't drop no apple core,”
But I don't have Grandma anymore,
If I get to heaven I'll look for
Grandma's hands.
I spent much of my youth well into my teen years caring for my Grandmother and little brother. A lot of the upkeep and cooking skills that I put to use nowadays comes from what I was taught in my youth by my Grandmother. Keep in mind that this was during a time when I was still riding the bus to and from school, doing homework and projects and still managing to get chores done around the house.
I had quite the exciting childhood.
I never griped, however. I felt that I really had no reason to; especially since my Grandmother's health was declining steadily. She suffered with Diabetes; so I quickly became familiar with her insulin regimen; issuing it to her twice daily(this is the best explanation for me having no fear of needles) and making sure that there was chocolate and juice on hand for whenever she experienced one of her episodes. This was a rather arduous time in my life to say the very least. There were nights when I wasn't necessarily sure if she was okay or not; so I would sit by her side and even leave my room to sleep next to her for fear of her getting sick and not being able to call for me.
Come to think of it, that would explain my insomnia; but I digress.
My teenage years saw me undergo a considerable spike in my maturity as a young man; and by the time I was seventeen, I found myself having to make yet another rough decision. Arguments and various disagreements surfaced between my Grandmother and I; many of them too emotional to willfully recall. Neither of us wanted to acknowledge or even accept it; but I was outgrowing both my surroundings and her style of parenting. The one thing that really remained intact was her guidance; but for all the times that we would spend together learning from each other, there were just as many arguments if not more.
It became fully apparent that it was time for me to leave; so shortly after graduating high school, I moved out of her house and went to live with my Mother. My Brother tagged along as well, of course. It was very hard for me to do; but I felt at the time that it was necessary. She would not be home alone, of course: my Uncles were there to look after her; many of them living there while my Brother and I were still there.
There was a brief back and forth between my Grandmother and Mother about my decision to leave; but all was laid to rest soon thereafter. I began to notice how much of an influence she was to me as I seamlessly applied certain practices and habits that were cultivated while living with my Grandmother. My Mother told me often that if her Mother gave me nothing else, she definitely gave me structure. That was always evident and apparent to her.
My Grandmother was a very, very proud woman. It was her very essence. Her zeal, if you will. She was in many ways one of the cornerstones of my Mother's side of the family. She always knew what to say, when to say it, how to say it and how it would affect the person she would tell it to. She never was one for pulling punches when it came to telling the truth; and she didn't believe in withholding the truth for the sake of one's emotional protection. There were a number of quotes and sayings that even to this day stand in front of me clear as the new day; but this one definitely strikes with great poignancy:
"I'm not gonna hide the truth from anyone. Hell, people have been hiding from the truth for years. The truth can walk around and never feel threatened. That's the problem."
She's a strong one for sure.
During Hurricane Katrina, we went back to her house to get her out of it as the roof was completely torn off of the house and the foundation was sure to crumble eventually. She was initially very stubborn; refusing to leave the house that her and my Grandfather worked so hard to acquire; but we were eventually able to coerce her into leaving; assuring her that it was for her own safety. It was the best decision for sure as we found out later on after the entire city flooded that her area of the neighborhood was completely submerged regardless of how high the houses were. We were able to regulate her medicine and supplies until we were able to exit the city days later; meeting in Baton Rouge with relatives that took us to LaPlace, Louisiana for the remainder of the year until the city was safe for return. While there, her health took a critical turn for the worse; especially after learning that one of my Uncles had drowned not far from her residence. Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Years passed by while my Grandmother spent the rest of the year in a medical facility.
Once January arrived, we found ourselves ready to pack and return home. Not long after returning, we placed her in hospice back home in New Orleans where she was under treatment constantly; but there was no substantial or even minuscule improvement in her health at all.
My Grandmother was born on March 13th. She didn't make it to her birthday the following year after the storm; passing away early February 2006 while still in hospice. I believe I slept and cried that entire day. That was the only day that I really felt any pain from that occurrence, though. The following weekend was her funeral. My Mother and I prepared the programs, arranged the service and made sure that everyone who could possibly make it to the service was there.
I wanted to deliver her eulogy; electing to do so in the form of a poem. I couldn't shed a tear. I felt that familiar comfort that only she were able to impart to me as I read each stanza. The light from the mosaics shined bright and brilliant as I continued to read. Amid a church filled with misty eyes and people shouting, I found solace in knowing that this amazing woman that I have looked up to, marveled after and cared for my entire life up to that very point could finally rest.
The program in its entirety was placed on a plaque that currently shares the same room as my Grandmother: Per her request, we had her cremated and she now sits in the living room of my Mother's house.
Although it isn't the same piece that I read at her funeral, here is the link to my Poetry blog for a piece in wrote December 2nd, 2010 in memory of her entitled "The Kitchen Table":
http://thirstforinspiration.blogspot.com/2010/12/kitchen-table.html
I never got to meet my Grandfather, unfortunately. He disappeared a few years before I was born. From what I gathered from my Grandmother, Mother and other members of my family that knew him well, he was always rather demure and thoughtful; remaining calm through most anything until he observed someone distraught or vexed by something. He is often described as "one who wore a cape that no one ever saw;" implying that he wanted to solve everyone's issues. I can certainly share that trait. It wasn't until I finally accepted that I can't save everyone that I actually found some solace in just doing the very best that I can no matter the outcome.
One or two of my Uncles recall him being a big flirt; which I find very humorous as one of the two who happened to share this with me is quite the womanizer himself. As far as I'm concerned, I'll take my lumps for being a flirt of sorts; but I am in no regard a womanizer.
Don't look at me like that...
My Grandfather served in the Vietnam War; returning home in 1975. From those closest to him, he was evidently shell-shocked from what he experienced in combat. This took a seemingly irreversible toll on his psyche; which coupled with Alzheimer's disease only complicated matters further. He underwent stints of violent behavior then substantial memory loss; all while suffering seizures and nightmares in spells. Ever devoted, my Grandmother did what she could to take care of him in his dilapidated state; hoping that his faculties would improve at some point.
In a recurrent conversing that I've had with my Grandmother, she stated that she knew that he may never return to the man that she knew before the war; but she always held out hope. When I inquired about his death, she stated that he left home one day and never returned. She asked around the neighborhood about him and even got the police involved in a search for him; but there were no leads regarding his whereabouts. I recall her saying that the police did find a body that they took to the morgue that fit the description that she gave them. She stated, however that when she went to view the body, she had not recognized the man as her husband. To this day, only my Grandmother really knows the truth about what happened to my Grandfather. I believe she may actually know and just refuses to recount said events; which I completely understand. My Grandmother took this bit of the unsolved to her grave.
Aside from the tragic, I've been told wonderful stories by my relatives regarding my Grandfather. Many of them I've compiled into a piece that I wrote about him on September 21st, 2011 entitled "The Man I Never Met." The link is below:
http://thirstforinspiration.blogspot.com/2011/09/man-i-never-met.html
Grandparents are those irreplaceable, undeniable, truly valued people in our lives that affect us in so many different ways. Grandparents are our link to the past; revealing to us reasons for why we are inclined to lead our lives in manners of our choosing. Very little of what we are as individuals is purely coincidental or a direct result of circumstance. There is an explanation for a considerable amount of what we delve into in our daily lives; and more often than not, the answers to why we are, what we are, what we do , why we do it and so many other inquiries rest within relatives of earlier descent; especially our grandparents. They love like no one ever could, cook better than anyone you'll ever eat from, understand the complexities of our lives thoroughly and seem to be masterful at helping us reach that very understanding for ourselves. No great feat, rare treasure or large amassing of any kind could ever hold a light to what my Grandmother means to me. She is my constant in a life filled with variables. She was that drink of cool water when life appeared determined to run me ragged.
I Love You, Grandmother. I can still see that smile that would fill an entire room with warmth and comfort.Rest well. <3
"Grandma's Hands" by Bill Withers
Grandma's hands clapped in church on Sunday morning.
Grandma's hands played the tambourine so well.
Grandma's hands used to issue out a warning,
She'd say, “Billy don't you run so fast,
Might fall on a piece of glass,
Might be snakes there in that grass,”
Grandma's hands.
Grandma's hands sooth the local unwed mother
Grandma's hands used to ache sometimes and swell
Grandma's hands used to lift her face and tell her,
She'd say, “Baby Grandma understands,
That you really loved that man,
Put yourself in Jesus' hands.”
Grandma's Hands.
Grandma's hands used to hand me piece of candy.
Grandma's hands picked me up each time I fell.
Grandma's hands, boy the really came in handy
She'd say, “ Mattie don't you whip that boy.
What you want to spank him for?
He didn't drop no apple core,”
But I don't have Grandma anymore,
If I get to heaven I'll look for
Grandma's hands.
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