Let’s talk about my grandmas today. Both of them have passed away. Actually, all of my grandparents are gone, but we’ll focus on my beloved grandmas.
I’ve talked extensively on this blog about my maternal grandma. She died in 2015 after a long battle with stage IV colon cancer. Her name was Barbara, and she met my grandpa as a teenager; they married when she was 18 and lived happily ever after. They had six children, five boys and one girl. My mom was smack dab in the middle with three older brothers and two younger brothers.
Grandma was the quintessential grandma. She was mainly a homemaker, but worked at the Christian Television Network for a few years. I can’t remember what she did there, but I do remember going to CTN one day for a “take your kids to work” day. Super fun! She was also the unofficial office manager for Pops’ construction business, which he operated out of their home. (Agape Drywall and Window Replacement!)
Grandma always had my back. The only time she ever got angry with me was when she found out I wasn’t wearing a seatbelt when my mom and I were in a car accident when I was in elementary school. We were fine, but I never went without my seatbelt because I never wanted Grandma to be mad at me.
Things I remember about my grandma: She started every morning with hot tea and toast. She made the most amazing spaghetti. She loved blueberry mini muffins and always had a pack in her cupboard. Her face would light up, and she would say my name with such joy when I walked in the door. She was a strong Christian woman who read her Bible every day and could spout Bible verses like it was second nature. (I’d like to believe she would not be a Trump supporter; there’s just no way a woman like her would support a man like him.) She ran Children’s Church with Pops my entire childhood, and every Sunday during prayer time, I would go right to her to pray for my uncle to stop smoking.
One evening, I received a voicemail from my father where he told me he was going to end his life. It unsettled me so much, and when I told my mom, we immediately drove to Grandma’s house so she could pray for him and for me. Nothing in the world brings me more peace than my grandma’s prayers.
I loved her so much, and I miss her every day.
Mommers was my paternal grandma, and our relationship was quite different. Her name was Hilda, and she was born in Toledo, Ohio. Her husband died in 1978, and soon after, she moved down to Florida with her oldest son. My dad joined them some time later, met my mom, and the rest is history.
Like Grandma, Mommers had five boys and one girl. My dad was the baby of the family, and she definitely treated him as the favorite. Mommers wasn’t a big fan of any of her daughters-in-law, my mom later told me. I had no idea! I always thought Mommers and my mom had a great relationship, but it was a lot more tense than I knew. My mom knew how much Mommers loved me and my brother, and she worked hard to put her feelings for her aside so we could have a healthy relationship with our grandma.
To my little-kid brain, Mommers was rich. She probably was, as her husband had a pension, which kept her afloat until her death. She would go all out for us every Christmas. On the weekends, my mom and I would take her shopping (with a stop at Bob Evans for breakfast first!). I can’t remember what she was shopping for, but I do remember we would always go to Wal-Mart and she’d let me buy something for myself.
Mommers wasn’t as warm and loving as Grandma, but I knew she loved me in her own way. I remember so many sleepovers at her house in Sebring until she moved to St. Petersburg to be closer to my dad and uncle. I remember how she would tease me about my restless legs during sleep, and how much I kicked her during the night. Those Hershey chocolate candy bags (the ones with Krackel and Mr. Goodbar) always remind me of her because she always had a bowl full of those chocolates for us. She loved the movie Prancer and would watch it every Christmas.
I had a baby doll that I took everywhere when I was younger. She looked like a real baby, and I would dress her in infant-sized rompers. Mommers would proudly put Jessica in the front seat of the cart and tote her around Wal-Mart, laughing when people thought Jessica was a real, live baby.
One afternoon, Mommers was sleeping in her room (this was after my parents divorced and Mommers moved in with my dad), and my dad, my brother, and I planned to watch a movie. I asked if I could have a TV tray to hold my drink, and my dad let me. The first time I reached up to pick up my drink, my arm hit the TV tray at an angle, and it tipped over, sending the drink crashing to the ground. A simple mistake, one anyone could make, but to my dad, it felt like I’d done it on purpose to enrage him. He started yelling at me, calling me a son of a bitch, and raising such a ruckus that Mommers came out of her room, told my dad to shut up, and then made sure I was okay. (Because, of course, at this point, I was crying on the couch. I was probably only 11 or 12 at this time.)
Mommers died in 2004. I think she had either a stroke or a heart attack while she was still living in Florida, and we visited her, not knowing it would be the last time we ever saw her. After that hospitalization, her sons moved her back up to Ohio, and she died not long afterward.
My love for Mommers was much different than my love for Grandma, but I miss her, too. It must have been so hard to lose her husband young, and while to me, it seemed like she lived a very isolated life, maybe it was fuller and more satisfying than I knew. What I hope, though, is that she knew how much I loved her and what an impact she made on my life.
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