My Gram

My gram (Doppie, as I called her) played a big part in raising me. When I was little, I spent every weekday with her while my mom worked. We spent a LOT of time together in my most impressionable years. Partly because of this, I attribute many of my core tenets directly to her. She taught me to be polite, respectful, and compassionate. Manners were always so very important to her.

She was also an absolute TRIP to be around. Best sense of humor ever. I actually have some home video that I took of her in the 90′s that still makes me laugh every time I watch it. She had pinched her fingers in a car door earlier that day – I asked her on the video why she did that, to which she replied “Well, I didn’t have anything else better to do today, so why not?”

I was in my late teens, during a visit to Connecticut to visit family, that things really changed. My Doppie wasn’t the same. She was in an assisted living type apartment – I knew that – what I didn’t know was that her mind was deteriorating. I will never forget the moment she looked across at me, then back to my mom, and asked “Who’s that handsome man sitting next to you?” I was absolutely crushed. It took every ounce of my being to hold it together while we were there with her. She didn’t know who I was. I wasn’t prepared for that. I knew she was getting old, but I didn’t expect that at ALL. I don’t think I’d ever cried as hard as I did that day. To me, this is when she passed.

Not long after that, she was moved to a nursing home. I saw her once in the home, and I was certain that I couldn’t see her like that again. So I didn’t. I think I was afraid that all of my great memories would be saturated by this new environment. I’m not yet sure if I regret it or not.

When she was born, Hemingway was less than 10 years old. Nietzsche had been dead for only seven years.

She was five when the Titanic perished. Seven when World War I began. Nine when Einstein’s Theory of General Relativity was published….

13 at the beginning of prohibition.
19 when Monet died.
23 met the onset of The Great Depression.
32 when World War II started.

She was the age I am now during WWII. This notion is simply incomprehensible to me.

Today, at 103 years old, my Doppie passed away.  Though my grieving process started over 10 years ago, it still hurts.

I know she would rather me celebrate her life than her death, though, so I thought maybe jotting down and sharing my thoughts would be therapeutic – reflect on it all, both the good and the bad.