Ive felt very weird about my grandmother’s death. im not the only one either, as i know that Natalie has been thinking about it too.
I dont know how coherant this will be, but im going to try.
Im kinda pissed at Grandaddy. there no real logic to it, but i am. I know he has nothing to do with how i feel and why, but im blaming him anyway.
I can tell you tons about my Grandaddy. From how he likes flea markets and a good deal, to the fact we used to watch pro wrestling and The Dukes of Hazzard together. I can tell you how he messed up his ankle, what his opinions are about minorities (they arent very nice), and what makes him laugh.
I can tell you a handful of things about my Grandmother.
She was a smoker, and would smoke in secret in her car. It never was a secret, because you would sit down in ashes. I can tell you she liked to gamble and play bridge and play the slot machines. I can tell you she liked her coffee black.
And thats about it.
I know some stories from when she was a kid, about how she went to five colleges before actually staying at one. At one or two of those, she completely refused to get out of the car.
I know those things.
But i have no idea about who my grandmother was.
My Grandaddy is a huge man with a big voice and a bum ankle. He is loud and opinionated. He was the King of his house for most of his life.
He says that when he met her, my grandmother was “feisty.” and she would have to be, to be caught kissing grandaddy on the front porch when she was engaged to someone else.
All i really know about my grandmother, is that when Grandaddy said jump, she jumped. She waited on him hand and foot, and he hollared and told her to shut her mouth, and bring him food so he could eat in front of the TV. I remember us eating over there on Sundays, and Daddy getting up from the table halfway through dinner and telling us we were leaving, because Grandaddy was yelling at Grandmother again.
He has always been like that. This is a man who you dont want to make angry, because you might not come out alive on the other side.
I know he has a different, nicer side, and that Grandmother must have seen it when i wasnt around, but overall, it wasnt a good, fabulous relationship.
I remember asking my dad once why Grandmother never left Grandaddy, and all he could say was that she loved my Grandaddy.
Going from that, a big man with a scowl and a bad attitude who always yelled at my Grandmother, to being her main caretaker in the last few years, to being the man who leaned over her in the hospital and brushed her hair and said, “I love you, Sadie” threw me.
Im having a much more difficult time dealing with my Grandmother’s death, than i did dealing with my Grandpa’s death (my mom’s dad died December of 2000). and im wondering if its because i felt closer to my Grandpa and Grandma, than i ever did with Grandmother. it might also be because we knew Grandpa was going down hill, and the phone call didnt surprise me.
But i find myself wanting to know more about Grandmother. Listening to stories about her when she was in school, going through her old photo albums and scrapbooks. Who the heck was this woman?
We were never close. She drove me insane most days, and i havent set foot in a car she was driving since i was 16, because i valued my health and she had more wrecks in one month than most people ever had in several years. But she lived in my hometown and i saw her all the time and yet i know NOTHING about her. not really.
So, what do i know about her? And why am i finding myself wanting to know more? Why is this so different?
I dont know. I know this is rambling and weird, and probably hard to follow, but its been on my mind a lot lately.