I really just have impressions of her, rather than real memories. I felt secure around her. She was fun to be with. We lived close by, and I think I spent a lot of time with her. Most of what I know about her, and even most of what she said to me, I have been told by other people as I grew older.
I do remember being very confused when she died. I was probably told that she was dead, or that she went to be with Jesus, or something like that... but of course it didn't register with me. I didn't attend the funeral. I was probably with a babysitter, me and my younger cousins. I vaguely remember a lot of people coming over to Grandma's house in fancy clothes, standing around and talking for what seemed to be a very long time. I may have wondered where she was, but she had been sick for a long time, and I hadn't been allowed to see her... apparently she "didn't want me to remember her that way".
During this "party", I remember remember going into Grandma's garage with my Dad. He let me sit behind the wheel of the t-bird while he opened the hood and showed the car to his brother in law. He seemed quite taken with the car, but said that it needed a "tachometer". Dad emphatically said that it already had one, and pointed to a big round dial right in front of me. Then he said that since the car had an "automatic", that it didn't really need a "tachometer", but that it had one anyway. That seemed funny to me. I clearly remember those words, but of course I didn't know what they meant. My Uncle ended up inheriting the car, and keeping it for 10 years... then selling it to me.
I don't know why I remember that so vividly. I suspect that I had been bored most of the day, and that I was thrilled to be with my Dad. I must have hung on his every word.
I don't remember feeling especially sad, or missing Grandma at the time. Even if I did, I certainly didn't know how to articulate or even address those kinds of feelings. I may have sensed that the people around me being sad, since they spoke in soft voices. I think several people told me how much they loved my Grandma. They would continue to tell me that for decades.
I never knew my Grandfather. He died in Normandy a week after D-Day in 1944. Amazingly, Grandma raised 4 children and put them all through college... Engineering school, Law school, Dental school and Nursing school... as a war widow and school teacher! Despite her detractors, she kept her house, and passed it on to one of her sons... who still lives in it. She clearly had a deep, enduring, fierce love. A woman of character. Not a woman to trifle with! No wonder I felt safe around her.
Her death was a tragic milestone for my Dad and his siblings. I later learned just how deep their unresolved grief has gripped the family. Circumstances didn't allow them to grieve the loss of their Father, and that left them ill-equipped to deal with the loss of their Mother... the one person who seemingly had the strength of will to persevere and keep the family together through any sadness, any ordeal. The sadness of this loss manifests itself in many ways, but it has deeply effected Dad and his brothers. I've sensed this deep brokenness many times from them while I was growing up, but I've only been able to make sense of it as an adult.
My Dad and his siblings have had family reunions every year since the funeral. They are getting old now. Dad is 83 and has esophageal cancer. It's unlikely that he'll be at many more of them. I have treasured these family parties over the years, and I'm gaining a deeper understanding of why they are have been important to me.
Maybe, restoring this t-bird is meant to be part of my own act of grieving, both for my Grandma and for my Dad's generation. For their pain and loss, and for what it has done to them. And, through them, what it has done to me.
I miss you, Grandma.
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