On My Grandmother

After a long battle with cancer, my grandmother passed away Sunday. Surrounded by her family. In her home of some 50 years; the one that got bigger every time we visited because Grandpa was always adding on. It got bigger as her family got bigger.

I will remember her for her strawberry rhubarb pie. For how sweet and bitter and warm it always was. It was a good pie.

I will remember her for her eyes. I have Grammie's eyes. Bright and white. Clear and large. I have her eyes. And so does Isaac.

I remember the summers at their camp. A camp some of you have been too. Grammie and Grandpa's Camp, as it has always been called. Of Grandpa making his famous pancakes and Mom and Grammie shucking corn and peas for dinners. Playing cards and going fishing. Sitting by the campfire making smores.

I remember other moments. Lots of them. How they almost missed my wedding, is among the funnier ones. And over the next few days I will share and remember many more that I have forgotten about Grammie.

And then there was that final trip up to see her in June. The one where we took Isaac. There was the time she held him in her arms, sick with cancer, worn and wearied. And he, perfectly at home, perfectly at rest, fell asleep despite the unquietness around. It is an enduring picture in my mind. Her strong arms, her large heart, his little body, his little heart. Rocking silently in the chair by the window overlooking the yard before the house that she lived in.

I see that moment through her eyes sometimes. Because we share the same eyes. And we share the same skin. And I miss my grandmother especially then.