Matriarchs

I have been to many funerals in my life and with most of them I come away disappointed.  I want to know something unique about the person.

Today we are laying to rest the vessel my Gram used in life.  And we are taking a moment to celebrate and reflect on what Gram meant to us all. What was her core essence,  her character. 

She was not always my GRAM.  In childhood, I called her Grandma.  

I have so many wonderful memories of her. 

I remember seeing her at K-mart where she worked.  Her blue smock, folding and sorting socks with a little cart at a blue light. She would smile the biggest smile when she recognized us. 

I remember camping adventures, Holidays, and because I had the amazing foresight to be born on Gram and Grandpa’s anniversary, special restaurant celebrations. 

I unapologetically have her love of a great shoe, and a good bag.  

She was always part of a Dynamic Duo with Aravella.  In hind sight,  I have come to believe they we not only sisters and best friends,  They were each others anchor.   Aravella was always a little bit saucier.

Something changed in our relationship in the past 10 years. I remember with clarity the moment and the conversation I saw my Gram as a woman.  

We learned that we were having a shared experience. 

After sixty five years of being married to my grandfather, My Gram found herself a Widow. 

And I, after a marriage that had run its course, found myself Divorced.  

Both of us were learning to sleep alone for the first time in a long time.

After that conversation, the term Grandma no longer fit.  She was no longer the fixture of my childhood.  She became one of my Matriarch’s.

Matriarch’s are the women on whose shoulders I stand.  Their strength and courage lay the foundation for me and  they provide a safe place to land not because they are perfect, but because they are perfectly imperfect.  They are the reason I can offer a shoulder up to my own children and generations after.

My Grandma became “GRAM”.

Just a few years later Gram and I took what I often joke is the Thelma and Louise trip.  A road trip with 8 hours of un-interupted conversation.   

She shared stories about her childhood and early life with Grandpa.  And even shared some things she wished she had done differently.  I got to listen and ask questions. 

She told me that when she would return from the beauty parlor, Grandpa would always inspect her hair.  He would smile his big smile and say one word…”Beautiful”

My Gram is the kindest, sweetest woman I have yet to meet.  She detested conflict but make no mistake she was not weak.  As my Grandpa would say…She is BEAUTIFUL.

I’d like to close with another story she shared with me.

She said that sometimes at night, right before she would fall into a deep sleep, Grandpa would come to visit her. 

He came to her as the handsome young man she married all those years before. 

He would ask in that familiar voice “are your feet cold? Bring them over here”.  

She said that she would place her feet between my grandfathers legs and he would warm them for her. 

I like to believe that my Gram was not alone in the hospital room when she passed.  I like to believe my grandfather came for her one last time and this time she chose to follow him home.  Her feet will never be cold again.