Grandmere

My Grandmere died yesterday, my father’s mother. She had been very ill for a long time, and had suffered many complications from her lupus, so it was actually a blessing to know she was no longer in pain.

“Blessing” is the kind of word she would have used; she had the kind of rock-solid faith that theoretically fills every church pew, but in reality, is often not evident. She believed wholeheartedly in the rituals and ceremonies of Catholicism, went to Mass almost every day, was never without a rosary and spoke as easily of Jesus, Mary and God as you might of your children or parents. Of course, I’m not entirely privy to her interior life over the decades, but I would be truly shocked to hear that her faith ever wavered. I think the only thing that could have competed with faith in her life was family, and for her, of course, they were probably inextricably linked, twin guiding principles that never let her down.

She and my grandfather had the kind of marriage you don’t always see anymore, the kind that spans many decades, the kind where one partner seems less whole without the other. Once he died, she began to speak of meeting him again soon in heaven, and what a joyous day that would be when it came. When I think of them, I remember them on the dance floor at my wedding, moving fluidly and gracefully in time with each other, showing the youngsters how it’s done.

All in all, losing her is certainly losing a part of my childhood, but for me, I think she represented so much that also seems lost, the traditional values that seem foreign to my educated-urban-liberal life today. While I won’t be returning to church or joining a country club in the deep South anytime soon, she has certainly been part of shaping the woman I am today, and the woman I think I’ll become.