30 years ago Grandmother and I celebrated her birthday together for the last time.
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Grandmother retired and moved in with us when I was 10. For me, she became the trusted adult that they always recommend that kids find during adolescence. She was extremely conservative (socially and politically), but she loved me so deeply that she would find ways to accept me. I returned the courtesy as I got older, and we worked together to nurture our areas of commonality.
Grandmother moved into an upstairs bedroom, which put her near the kids. Going down to my parents' room at night was creepy - moving shadows were cast through the large windows along the route, and only the most terrifying or upsetting events would force me down there, where I often had to wait, trembling with fear, at a locked door. Grandmother's door was never locked, and she always let us climb into the double bed with her. In time, her room became a quiet refuge for me. I remember the mundane things - like her patient brushing of my (very long) hair until it was snarl free. She was delighted with anything I made her, was lavish in her praise, and clearly considered me to be immensely talented and beautiful. She successfully taught me hand sewing, unsuccessfully tried to teach me pastry making, and regaled me with stories of her own childhood and of my Mom's childhood.
Tales of childhood that came directly from my Mom and her siblings revealed the scars of significant dysfunction. Eventually, I was able to recognize the traces of that dysfunction in Grandmother's stories as well. It is possible to trace the legacy of maternal dysfunction back to her own Mother, as well as forward to daughters and granddaughters. She excelled as a Grandmother, however, perhaps modeling herself on her own Grandmother, whom she had loved so much.
Eventually, Grandmother and I moved on - me to school and life, Grandmother because my Mom no longer found her useful. During the last decade of her life, I lived nearby and spent one day a week with her. As she aged, there was a gradual change in the relationship as I assumed more of a caregiving role. Meals on Wheels, Home Health Aids and the VNA allowed her to retain her sense of independence, and she lived in her apartment until her final, very brief hospitalization.
Happy Birthday, Grandmother. I love you.