Thursday, January 26, 2006
Ninety Six
My grandmother turns 96 today.
At least we THINK so. She was never very candid about her age, or a lot of other things.
Like how exactly she got that tattoo on her thigh.
We know this: Grandma grew up in Washington, D.C. Her father worked for the Treasury Dept., and she was very proud of him. She didn't like her mother all that much, or her brother, for that matter. She was truly a Daddy's Girl.
She married a Merchant Marine who gave her three children and then left her to raise them alone when my mother, the middle child, was 13. Exactly why he left is unclear. He may have been an alcoholic, he may have had gambling debts. Whatever the reason, my mother never saw him again. He died of a heart attack somewhere on the West Coast a short time later. My grandmother did not attend the funeral.
To support herself and her children, she started a school on the first floor of her suburban D.C. home. Somehow, the school was successful enough to allow her to send her children to good private schools. This must have taken all of her strength, because although she worked hard to support and educate her children, she did not find the energy to love them. I think the dysfunction must have started in her own family. She only recently told us of coming home one day when she was twenty or twenty one and finding her beloved father dead. He had committed suicide, and she hadn't told anyone in our family because she didn't want them to think that was the right thing to do.
My grandmother has lived a comfortable life blemished time after time by disappointment. Her only son, a successful banker, went to jail for fraud. Her eldest daughter committed suicide. Her two living children suffer from autoimmune diseases.
She had hoped to live out her life in her own home. But after turning 90, she started bit by bit to lose the independence she valued so dearly. First we had to ask her not to drive anymore. Then we told her she needed someone at the house with her. But when the ceiling started falling in and she refused to let her children fix it, we knew it was time for her to be in a safe place. She did not want to live with her children, so we found a nice place in the mountains with caregivers who truly love working in geriatrics.
At first we made sure that she had a visitor every weekend. But lately she has lost track of the time and, more and more often, of us too. Sometimes I think she knows who I am, but then she loses me. I wish I could have one long, truthful conversation with her before she dies, or before she sinks irrevocably into her thoughts. I'd love to be able to ask her all of my questions: Why did my grandfather leave? What was he like? Did you love him? What are you most proud of? What do you regret? And the one I wonder about the most, What is the story of the tattoo?
But maybe, really truly, I don't want to know. Maybe the mysteries my grandmother will leave may actually be more tangible, more lasting, than the truths she would offer in their place.
I guess they'll have to be.
Happy Birthday, Gram.
At least we THINK so. She was never very candid about her age, or a lot of other things.
Like how exactly she got that tattoo on her thigh.
We know this: Grandma grew up in Washington, D.C. Her father worked for the Treasury Dept., and she was very proud of him. She didn't like her mother all that much, or her brother, for that matter. She was truly a Daddy's Girl.
She married a Merchant Marine who gave her three children and then left her to raise them alone when my mother, the middle child, was 13. Exactly why he left is unclear. He may have been an alcoholic, he may have had gambling debts. Whatever the reason, my mother never saw him again. He died of a heart attack somewhere on the West Coast a short time later. My grandmother did not attend the funeral.
To support herself and her children, she started a school on the first floor of her suburban D.C. home. Somehow, the school was successful enough to allow her to send her children to good private schools. This must have taken all of her strength, because although she worked hard to support and educate her children, she did not find the energy to love them. I think the dysfunction must have started in her own family. She only recently told us of coming home one day when she was twenty or twenty one and finding her beloved father dead. He had committed suicide, and she hadn't told anyone in our family because she didn't want them to think that was the right thing to do.
My grandmother has lived a comfortable life blemished time after time by disappointment. Her only son, a successful banker, went to jail for fraud. Her eldest daughter committed suicide. Her two living children suffer from autoimmune diseases.
She had hoped to live out her life in her own home. But after turning 90, she started bit by bit to lose the independence she valued so dearly. First we had to ask her not to drive anymore. Then we told her she needed someone at the house with her. But when the ceiling started falling in and she refused to let her children fix it, we knew it was time for her to be in a safe place. She did not want to live with her children, so we found a nice place in the mountains with caregivers who truly love working in geriatrics.
At first we made sure that she had a visitor every weekend. But lately she has lost track of the time and, more and more often, of us too. Sometimes I think she knows who I am, but then she loses me. I wish I could have one long, truthful conversation with her before she dies, or before she sinks irrevocably into her thoughts. I'd love to be able to ask her all of my questions: Why did my grandfather leave? What was he like? Did you love him? What are you most proud of? What do you regret? And the one I wonder about the most, What is the story of the tattoo?
But maybe, really truly, I don't want to know. Maybe the mysteries my grandmother will leave may actually be more tangible, more lasting, than the truths she would offer in their place.
I guess they'll have to be.
Happy Birthday, Gram.
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That's a wonderful story. What an involving life she led. You have a very balanced outlook on life yourself to be able to look at her life in such a loving way. Happy Birthday indeed!
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