What my Grandmother taught me about Grief
I went to the cemetery today for the first time, since my grandmother’s passing, and it made me remember all the times I flew out to visit her as a kid. I had to laugh a little because you always hear stories of grandmothers being warm and cozy, and baking cookies or knitting sweaters and what have you, except I don’t think my childhood visits with my grandmother were anything like most others, but you know , looking back— I wouldn’t trade them for the world.
See, my father passed when I was eleven, so it was just her and I that kept my paternal side still alive. Except I lived on the west coast and her on the east. So after his passing, we made it a point that when I wasn’t visiting, we would stay in touch over the phone and through handwritten letters, which she preferred. I remember she would always include news clippings about what was going on in town to keep me updated. It was one of our traditions. One of our other traditions was to visit the cemetery whenever I was in town.
I remember the day would start out with us going to breakfast at the local diner where all the staff knew us, since she had been going there once a week for twenty something years, and would always bring me with her when she could. After breakfast and visiting with the staff, we would go to the dollar store and pick out a bunch of silk flowers for our loved ones who had passed on — my father, my aunt, my grandpa, my step-grandpa, and my great-grandmother.
After the dollar store, we’d make our rounds at the cemetery — stopping at each gravesite to clean out the weeds, and replace the old flowers from prior visits. I remember she always kept garden gloves, shears, and that green foam stuff for flower vases in the trunk of her car just in case things really needed to be tidied. I always found it so endearing because it showed how much she cared, despite her hard outer shell. Before we moved onto the next loved one, she would always make sure to share memories of each person. I believe it was still a part of her grieving, as much as it was a way to help me feel closer to my family that I didn’t get to meet, or know very well. I don’t recall all of them now, but at the time it filled in a lot of context. Looking back I wish I had taken a notepad, so I could jot down what she shared to remember when I was older, but as a kid you don’t think of things like that, and that’s ok.
She always used to say, “it’s a waste of a day, if you don’t learn something new,” but I wonder what she’d say if you can’t remember what you learned when it came to your own family? Nevertheless, I still cherish those memories, foggy details and all.
If you know anything about Astrology, my grandmother was a Scorpio with a six planet stellium in the first house, so she was intense to say the least, yet endured a lot of pain in her life, which didn’t make her the friendliest person. However, it also meant she was not afraid of the dead, or facing her fears of death, and because of that she taught me how to be comfortable with this aspect of life, as well. It doesn’t erase the pain, or make things easier to grasp, but we were their living legacies, despite the mess left behind, and she made sure we remembered and honored their memories, regardless.
I’ll be honest though, the pain kept me away and has wiped some of my memories away, which is ok too. I know that. It actually makes me admire her that much more. She outlived and buried so many family members, half of whom are not listed here, and yet she still carried on and honored them. This isn’t to say she didn’t have her bitter shadows surrounding their deaths, or carry hardened resentment with them leaving her behind, but can you blame someone who survived so much sorrow and grief in their lifetime? That’s pure resilient strength, and something that should be honored.
It has taken me six years, since her passing, and not everything makes sense still, but I have at least reached a place where I am ready to carry on the tradition, and honor my ancestors in the same way. I’m their living legacy, after all.
So today, I went to the cemetery and remembered.
I write this as a reminder to love on your people both here and “gone” — however that looks for you ❤
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