When I was growing up, I thought my grandmother was magical. Of course, I had a pretty low threshold for what constituted magic, so Grandma surpassed it every single time. If we are lucky, the word "grandma" means big hugs and kisses, softness and smiles, but most of all, just a great big 'ole dose of love. And Grandma's love was the most magical of all.
We lived in one apartment complex on the outer edge of town and Grandma lived in the complex next to us for many years. In my mind's eye, I can still see Grandma standing in the open doorway with a big smile on her face and open arms. I see her short, round frame with knees bent slightly to absorb the full-force of my lanky child body. Her middle was soft and she smelled like perfume and Crisco. Future grandmas take note: You should always smell like something good in the kitchen. Your grandkids will like that.
On long summer days, we'd try to stay cool and Grandma always had cold watermelon slices - I could eat as many as I wanted. One summer day, Grandma let me eat the entire watermelon. I stopped eating watermelon after that. Grandma felt bad and started buying Icies instead.
Over the next 30 years, I grew up, moved away, went to college, got married, had two babies - and then one more. Grandma would come visit every two or three months. In the last six or seven years of her life, we would talk on the phone a few days a week and always on Fridays. During our Friday talks, I cleaned the house as we chatted about politics, Medicare, cars, kids, etc. At the end of every phone conversation, Grandma would say, "I love you, Barb." I would reply, "I love you, too." And then she would say, "Honey, love you."
I was 37 years old when my grandmother passed away in January 2009. In the 18 months before she got sick and declined quickly, Grandma went on what I'd like to call her "Going Away Tour." She visited friends and family in different states and we went on two "girls only" trips together. Our last trip was to a place called "Kennywood" in Pennyslvania. We had a recurring theme for that final trip: "Recalculating..."
Six weeks later, life began to blur. A few months later, it was the end for us. But, not for Grandma. She entered into the grandest beginning of everlasting life in heaven. A short time later, my mom and I were on the phone and at the end of the conversation she said, "I love you, Barb." I replied, "I love you, too." And then, Mom took a breath and began to carry on Grandma's good-bye tradition. For which I am grateful.
I was lucky enough to keep two things that remind me of Grandma's life: her Red Door perfume and her handwritten German Chocolate Cake recipe. One sniff of her perfume and I am magically transported back to the memories and moments in her presence that blessed my life in so many ways. When I take a bite of German Chocolate cake, I'm a ten-year old learning how to separate eggs and impatiently waiting for the coconut-pecan frosting to cool before Grandma would put it on the cake. Then, she would slide the bowl in front of me with smile and a warning: "Don't eat too much. You'll get the runs."
One day, I'll have to tell you about the time Grandma plucked off her eyebrows and drew them back on indigo blue...
