The Importance of Grandmothers

My grandmother, Annabelle's great grandmother, died last week. As you can probably imagine, it's been sad. Nanny, as we called her, had lived a good life (she was 86) and had dementia for the last decade (so this was also a relief), but it was still sad to say "goodbye" to someone who meant so much to our family.

Annabelle, unfortunately, never got to meet her great grandmother. The closest they ever came was a glance into the open casket on Wednesday and the obituary that appeared in the local newspaper. (That their walks (or crawls) through life didn't overlap is really a shame because they would have enjoyed each other an awful lot.) And as I sat in the church on Wednesday, reflecting on the missed connection, I realized just how important my grandmother was to my life -- and just how important Annabelle's grandmothers already are to her life.

Grandmothers, as the cliche goes, spoil grandkids. They buy them unnecessary and extravagant gifts, let them eat chocolate for breakfast, and let them stay up way past their bedtimes. My grandmother did all that for me. Annabelle's grandmothers are already doing that for her.

But it's the other stuff -- the meaningful stuff -- that really sticks with you after a person dies. And as I gave the eulogy in front of family and friends on Wednesday, I couldn't help but remember my past and imagine Annabelle's future. In one section, I read:

I learned my right from my left, thanks to a really corny rhyme that I will most certainly remember until I’m old and gray. I learned that “driving, Michael, isn’t hard. It’s just the other people you need to look out for.” I learned that you should always care for your things, especially if it’s an imaginary (and priceless) glass factory that you own and operate with your grandson. I learned that there’s nothing quite like swimming in the ocean in the darkness on a warm night in York Beach, Maine. I learned that sometimes, if you’re Nanny, it’s okay to cheat at Scrabble. 

And it made me think of my mother, Annabelle's Nana. She's going to teach Annabelle corny rhymes, introduce her to the ocean, and, more than likely, run an imaginary seashell factory with her. She may even cheat at Scrabble, but she'd never admit to it. And the thought of all that made me smile.

In another section, I read:

I could go on with the stories and the memories. I haven’t even mentioned toy fire trucks, Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel, orange frappes, tea parties, or the best apple pie I’ve ever tasted. I’m sure that every person in this room has some memories, too. You weren’t as lucky as I was to be her grandson, but I bet she helped you become friendlier or braver or more adventurous. That’s what she did.

And it made me think of Bridget's mother, Annabelle's Grammy. She's already taken Annabelle to tea a handful of times and made sure Annabelle had the perfect outfit every time. She spoils her with adorable coats and hats, and probably sneaks her a taste of something sweet when she and Grandpa take Annabelle out to dinner. And the thought of all that made me smile.

Sure, for now, Annabelle probably won't remember most of this because she's still so young. These days, she splits her time evenly between eating, sleeping, and honking my nose. But she's growing fast. And the importance of her grandmothers will keep growing, too.

Together, they will help us teach her how to be kind, patient, and thoughtful. They'll teach her to be a good person. And they'll teach her how to enjoy life -- just like her great grandmother did.