i have never once discussed the grief and anger i still carry over my grandmother's death

[fizzgig]

Last edited Wed Jun 24, 2015, 12:31 PM - Edit history (1)

going to warn you now, this is a long post.

i sit on it and sit on it and sit on it. i've never brought it up to my dad (she was his mom), my sister, my husband, my best friend or my therapist. i've typed this out here a dozen times and have never hit post, but i have to talk about it.

grandma passed on 2/3/08, which i only remember because it was super bowl sunday. she had pancreatic cancer and forbade my dad and uncles from telling the grandkids, so i had no idea she was sick until i got the call that she had died.

i grew up 1800 miles from my dad's family and was only just getting to know my grandmother as an adult. we went out to visit them in nyc once a year and they took us on a few vacations here and there, so we weren't strangers, but i didn't know her anywhere as near as i would have liked to. i always enjoyed our time together, though. she and grandpa took us to museums, ballets and radio city music hall for the christmas show. i remember the bakery across the street and the deli a block down.

she was a proper southern jewish woman to whom i owe my impeccable (public) table manners. she was a good liberal who spent 45 or so years working for a union local in manhattan. she caucused for clinton and attended his inauguration. there are a couple of group photos with clinton and i asked my grandfather if i could have them. i wish i could talk politics with her now. i'm sure she would be as disgusted as i am with the state of things today, but i know we would have disagreed on who to support in the primaries. it's really sad that i can't have that debate with her.

i think about all the family history i lost, how much of her story is incomplete, how i didn't have the chance to get to know her better and how i didn't get to say goodbye and i am filled with such anger and sadness. that was all stolen from me.

i don't know who i'm angrier at about this, her or my father. i found out recently that my middle uncle told my two cousins the night before she passed. that just make me angrier.

my life was a shitshow at the time and anyone who knew me knew to not call me at 730 on a sunday unless something was on fire. well, around 730 that sunday my phone starts ringing. i had been asleep for maybe four hours and was still drunk, so i immediately sent it to voicemail when i didn't recognize the number. same number calls again a minute later and i voicemailed it a second time, vowing that i would answer the phone with "somebody better be dead" if they called a third time. thank gods they left a voicemail after the second call because it was my uncle calling to give me the news. he only called me because he couldn't reach my dad. it hit me like a ton of bricks, so i call my dad (he was at his girlfriend's) until i get him. i don't even remember the conversation we had because i was in shock.

i got to the house around noon or one and that's when my dad gave my sister the news and in the bluntest, least sensitive way ever. he told her to sit down and simply said "your grandmother is dead."

so we go about our day as normally as was possible. we snacked and turned on the game, although none of us were really paying attention. at some point during the game, my dad got a call from his younger daughter from a previous relationship whom he'd never met (lots of gory details there that i won't get into). she called to tell him to not at all think the funeral was going to be a reunion and that she didn't want to talk to him. i am a daddy's girl and that sent me into orbit to the point that i still despise her to this day (yes, her prerogative, but terrible timing).

let's throw some guilt in at this point. i was working at the local paper at the time and something was happening that coming tuesday and i joked with my boss that i'd rather be doing that and that i wouldn't be in for work that day. well, wound up having to take that day off for the funeral.

sister and i drank whiskey from a flask in the bathroom before the funeral. when the remembrance part of the funeral came around, some unseen force carried me to the podium and words came out of my mouth. i spoke of how we'd drink strong coffee and eat pastry in the morning and of our lunches of cheese and boxed wine. but what i spoke most about was how she taught me to laugh. she would giggle like a girl and it just brightened the room.

my sister nearly had a meltdown at the shiva (i was near that point, too, but i'm better at hiding it), so they left me alone with all the neurotic new yorkers to go to the bakery. didn't even ask me if i wanted to come. my uncle and cousin asked me where they where and when they were coming back so many times that i just about threw them off the 14th floor balcony. how did i cope? i poured myself a bit more whiskey and periodically locked myself in the bathroom to cry.

but something made the whole trip even worse. i was in a long-distance relationship with a man who lived a bit upstate and, not only was he not there for me in terms of being available to talk, he got mad at me for not being able to come up and visit while i was out there (his coming to the funeral was out of the question).

i dreamed of her on the flight home. i was a crying baby and she held me in her arms. had to go cry in the bathroom after that. that's the only time i've ever dreamed of her.

so, here i sit, years later, filled with all these emotions and with no idea how to deal with them. i will have to talk to my dad about it someday, but that day isn't here yet. grandpa isn't well and it's a conversation i will never have with him.

i love you, grandma, and i miss you.