My paternal grandmother and I never really had that close-knit bond that you see in those feel-good movies. Instead, she had a much stronger connection with my cousins, which was tough for me as a kid. It stung a bit when she regularly misspelled my name on birthday cards. And the one time I let my guard down and showed her my heartache, she simply took a long drag from her cigarette and, from across the room, asked in a calm voice, “Well, what did you do to deserve it?”
She wasn’t the type to celebrate my achievements like the grandparents in those sappy Hallmark flicks. Sure, she showed up on my wedding day, but her presence was more like a shadow. Looking back, it’s kind of funny that she forgot to wear her dentures, but in that moment, I felt the sting of her indifference as much as I felt the scratchy lace of my veil.
I can’t quite figure out why those memories have lingered with me, but they have.
When I received the news last week that she was gravely ill, I tried to focus on happier times—though most of them didn’t involve me. My dad reminded me that she never missed one of his football games, and my aunts have shared stories about her legendary pies and ravioli soup. She was direct and had no time for nonsense, qualities I definitely relate to.
That night, I dreamt of both beginnings and endings. In my dream, my grandmother visited my home—a place she’d never set foot in—and wrapped her arms around me, a sensation I hadn’t experienced before. We stood in the kitchen, my back to the sunlit window above the sink. Though I couldn’t see it, I felt the warmth of the morning light streaming in, illuminating the otherwise dark room. The hug felt awkward yet real, emphasized by her smile and her distracted glances out the window. She waved silently, and I understood that somewhere beyond that window, my grandfather was waiting for her, giving a cheerful honk from his favorite Chrysler.
This morning, I was ready to text my dad about the dream when his message arrived first: “Grandma’s gone. Left us around 1 a.m.”
I don’t know why she chose to visit me. Maybe it was because I write, or perhaps she knew I’d share her story. Maybe she wanted to assure us that she was finally at peace. Or perhaps it was a gentle nudge for me to hold onto something good after years of her misspelling my name.
It’s alright, Grandma. Everything is alright.
If you’re interested in learning more about home insemination and related topics, check out this excellent resource on artificial insemination. And if you’re looking for practical advice on home insemination kits, visit this page about Cryobaby at-home insemination kits for great insights.
Summary:
In this heartfelt reflection, Olivia Thompson shares her complex relationship with her grandmother, who passed away recently. While their bond wasn’t particularly close, memories of her grandmother’s straightforward nature and the love she had for others lingered. A poignant dream before her grandmother’s passing offered comfort and closure, highlighting the nuances of family relationships and the importance of cherishing memories.