At 82 years old, my grandmother was a vibrant, independent woman with a sharp mind, but trapped inside an ailing body. She lived alone in her Florida condo (to where all New York Jews retire) while her entire family lived in New York. Extremely bullheaded and strong-willed, she refused to moved up to New York after my grandfather died five years earlier, claiming she was very capable of meeting her own needs, which, I believe, she was. She had someone to fetch groceries for her, go to “The Boys” specialty market to get her fresh fruits and vegetables and tripe, get her meds at the drug store, pick up Diet Rite, her favorite soda. She personally knew the owners of the Chinese restaurant and the pizza place, who already knew her order when they heard her very distinct voice on the other end of the phone.
When she became ill in the summer of 2005 and needed to be in a rehab facility, needless to say, she was not happy.
“I’m surrounded by all these OLD people,” she ironically claimed. “I gotta get outta here!”
My family rotated going down to Florida to be with her. Many obligations plagued my family during that time–work, moving, new babies to take care of–so, being the single, child-less teacher with the summer off and no obligations of my own, I found myself in Florida with my grandmother most of the summer. I actually did not mind at all. She was definitely more entertaining than any summer reading I would have done.
Each morning I was woken up by a phone call from my grandmother reporting the needs of the day.
“Dayna, this is grandma.” (as if I didn’t know) “Bring me some more shmatas (her name for the mumu house dresses she wore) and new batteries for my hearing aides.”
I spent most of the day with her, at her bedside, reading funny or interesting stories from the newspaper, comics, recipes, etc.
“You should send that one to your sister,” she would say when we came across a stuffed artichoke recipe, or “Send that one to your father!” when it was an article entitled ‘How to Organize Your Living Space’.
Sometimes we would reminisce about our summers flying kites at Rockaway Beach or she would tell me stories she had told me a hundred times or more.
“Did I ever tell you how grandpa and I went on our first date to the movies?” or “Did I ever tell you about the time I hung your father on a meat hook by his pants because he was throwing sawdust at your aunt at the butcher store?” or “You’ve heard the story about when your schootch of a brother kept asking for a purple ice pop even though we didn’t have anymore and I squooshed grape jelly in his face?”
Sometimes we just sat in silence. She would tell me, “GET OUTTA HERE! GO ENJOY THE SUN!” or “I’m sure this is how you wanted to spend your summer! Taking care of your sick grandmother!” Then she would laugh and erupt into a coughing fit.
Each night she sent me home with laundry and gave me instructions for the next day. “Bring me some vanilla pudding from that place right off Military Drive…the food here is CRAP!”
As my trip began to come to a close, grandma started to become a bit delirious. She often forgot where she was and spoke of being at a bar-b-que at her friend Naomi’s house in New York, which she hadn’t been to in years. One morning when I was reading the rehab facility menu to her to make her meal choices, she said, “What the hell is going on? Naomi doesn’t serve shit like this!”
On August 12th, I was set to return to New York. I visited my grandmother for the last time. She lay in the bed, eyes closed looking very serene and relaxed, a way she hadn’t looked in weeks. I told her I was leaving and I would be back to visit very soon.
“Don’t you go anywhere!” I warned her, with tears in my eyes, knowing this might be the last time I saw my grandmother.
She gave me the most peaceful look I have ever seen and said, “I love you bubala,” a Yiddish term of endearment she often called me.
“I love you too Gram,” I said and left the room and cried all the way to the car.
The next morning, my grandmother passed away.
3 Comments
October 19, 2009 at 11:16 am
Good stuff, Dayna. I can picture Tommy in her muumuu! And could you imagine if grocery stores still had sawdust on the floors? Gross!
October 19, 2009 at 4:56 pm
Crying after reading that. Miss her sooooo much!!!!!!!!!!!
October 19, 2009 at 8:28 pm
Me too Kar. I wrote this a while ago and had to leave it for a while before publishing it because I cried when I wrote it!