My grandmother was petite and gentle, with a soft voice reminiscent of a character from a classic cartoon. Her daily routines revolved around watching soap operas, pampering her plump little dog with treats, and indulging in her long-time smoking habit. Whenever I shared exciting news, her typical response was a curious, “Oh?”
Yet, my memories stand in stark contrast to the vibrant woman my mother describes—a spirited girl who, during the harsh winters of Michigan, would secretly transport moonshine for her father under a long coat, knowing no one would suspect a young girl. She even had a chance encounter with Al Capone and shook his hand.
As a teenager, she took to the stage, playing guitar and singing in bars to help support her family. Later in life, family gatherings at her and my grandfather’s Miami home often featured her strumming the guitar while the two of them harmonized poolside.
She was no pushover. I recall an instance where her much taller son made a rude comment, and she swiftly put him in his place, reminding him of who raised him. However, her demeanor shifted around my grandfather. When he spoke to her with harshness, she remained calm and composed, leaving me puzzled as to why she never stood up to him. My grandfather, a rugged man, had strong opinions, a quick temper, and a penchant for a hearty dinner at precisely 6 PM. Despite his rough edges, I hold fond memories of him teaching my sister and me silly tricks, like the classic “Where’d my finger go?!”
In her sixties, my grandmother quit smoking, but the damage was already done—she was diagnosed with lung cancer a decade later. As she faced her illness, my grandfather, who had long been set in his ways, was suddenly confronted with the reality of losing her. He wanted to care for her but struggled with how to express that sentiment, as he had never truly cared for anyone in that way before.
During her struggle, the phone became one of her few remaining joys. My grandfather, often absent and not much of a communicator, left her to seek connection through conversations with loved ones. Tragically, as her condition worsened, she became unable to hold the phone to her ear, leading her into a deep depression.
Then came a remarkable moment. My grandfather, breaking through his tough exterior, bought her a portable headset, allowing her to talk without holding the phone. He felt proud of his thoughtful gesture, a significant step outside his comfort zone. Unfortunately, my grandmother’s health declined rapidly, and she never had the chance to use the headset before passing away.
Witnessing my grandfather’s profound grief in the months following her death was the most poignant display of love I have ever seen. Despite his lack of verbal wisdom, he taught me the significance of expressing love and gratitude in the present moment. Life is unpredictable; sometimes, “later” is a luxury we do not have.
Because of his sorrow, I now feel compelled to share my feelings with those I care about. I often ask myself, “If this were the last time I saw someone, would they know how much they mean to me?” I refuse to be left holding an unopened package of emotions.
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Summary:
This reflective piece shares a poignant lesson on love learned through the relationship between a grandfather and grandmother. It emphasizes the importance of expressing feelings and appreciation in the present, as life can change unexpectedly.