Grandmas

[pegkerr]

Someone on my friends list (it was a locked entry, so I won't say who) had a post concerning a grandmother who had recently died, and this person admitted not feeling any grief, but only relief because the relationship had been so toxic. I said:

I am sorry for your loss. And by that I mean not the usual condolence thing, because your grandmother has died, but the loss in your life of never having a grandmother you could love in the first place. I loved both my grandmothers, and the relationship with each was good. I'm sorry that you never had a grandmother like one of mine, one who played Chutes and Ladders with me, who had me sleep overnight in the Rose bedroom, who taught me how to make a Gentleman's Sandwich Loaf, who took me sailing, who showed me her beautiful porcelain tea cups, who gave me an extravagent doll every year on my birthday, or who gave me a sterling silver spoon, each in a different pattern and engraved with my name on my birthday, who called me "Lambie."

I am so sorry you never had that.

On thinking it over, I want to say, yeah, my relationship with both my grandmothers was really special. And I'd like to take this opportunity to thank my parents for picking pretty cool moms of their own, and for fostering those bonds of love.

I feel very lucky.

Comments

[splagxna.livejournal.com]

you *are* lucky. most of us never get to learn what a gentleman's sandwich loaf IS, let alone how to make one!

[tinymich.livejournal.com]

And, given that Google gives you no results on that search, now I'm curious as to what it *is*...

[pegkerr.livejournal.com]

Here's an example on the Internet. Pretty close to what I remember, although the coating was plain cream cheese, rather than cream cheese mixed with Ranch dressing. I think my Nana used the cream cheese and green olives for one filling, maybe tuna for a second and maybe egg salad for a third.

[heavenscalyx.livejournal.com]

I miss my grandmothers (and the one grandfather I knew) terribly. I teared up some at your comment, because I only occasionally take the time to realize just how much I do miss them. When my mother's mother died in 2003, I demanded the opportunity to give a eulogy for her, in defiance of my family tradition of detachment. She had stopped being mentally functional around 1998, so it was a relief of a different sort when she finally died. My cousins were all effusively grateful to me for doing the eulogy, because, they said, I'd brought back a lot of memories about her they'd forgotten.

[psychic-serpent.livejournal.com]

You're also lucky that your grandmothers lived to get to know you. My father's mother died eleven years before I was born (we have pictures of her holding my oldest two sisters only) at the age of 76 and my mother's mother died two years before I was born. (She wasn't that old, either--63--but cancer doesn't care.) My dad's dad died when he was two years old, so he never even knew his own father. (Not many people know that there was a pretty bad flu epidemic in 1920, when my grandfather died, not just 1918, although that was a really, really bad year for flu deaths.) Luckily, I at least knew my mother's father, who died about 13 years ago now (at 93), but I also sort of felt lost in the crowd, because he had 13 children and I was the youngest of 5 kids and one of his 33 grandchildren. Plus, he was the director of the Presbyterian's Children Village (an orphanage, basically) when I was small, so he had a number of "virtual" children as well. (I do feel that it's nice that so many kids' lives were positively affected by my "Pop-Pop"!)

I don't think I ever really had him to myself, as a result of being one of so many, but I do have a fond memory of going to visit him with my family when I was only about four years old and finding an Etch-a-Sketch to play with in the living room of the apartment he lived in above his office. When it was time to go I sadly put the Etch-a-Sketch back (having never seen such a wonderful object before in my life!) and my grandfather could see how much I loved it and insisted that I take it with me. I didn't ask for it at all but did accept it without hesitation. I remember thinking that my parents seemed reluctant about it, and years later I realized that it was probably donated to the Village for the orphans. Perhaps my grandfather knew that, even though I wasn't an orphan, my parents didn't have a lot of money to spare, with five of us, and I had never actually received a new toy or clothes at that point in my life but hand-me-downs only. (My sisters' old toys were carefully re-wrapped in their original boxes for my Christmas presents.) I know that my grandfather didn't have a lot of money either, because he drew a very small salary and received free housing at the Village in return for being the director. But that Etch-a-Sketch was still the only gift I ever remember receiving from my grandfather other than the two one-dollar bills I received every year in my birthday card from him.

I treasured it for many years until my mother made me give it to my nephew, but I sort of wish I still had it, just because of how I got it. When my grandfather died the traffic on West Chester Pike was tied up all afternoon during the trip from the funeral home to the cemetary; all you could see in either direction was an unending line of slow-moving cars with their headlights on. He was very loved by so many people, not just his descendents, and I will always remember the way his very death stopped traffic and affected others' lives, but the way he affected others' lives while he was alive was even more significant. I can't even remember how many of the orphans from the Village were at that funeral, people who loved and claimed him with as much right as those of us who have his blood in our veins. All in all, not a bad crowd in which to be lost, even though I never had the sort of close relationship with my grandfather that you had with your grandmothers. It was still good. :)

[callunav.livejournal.com]

You are lucky.


And yes, I have to work to get outside some bitterness in my own head when I say that, but I can do that, and I am truly glad for you.

And I can also, when I clear my head, be glad for myself. I had one grandmother who took me places, and talked with me as though I was an interesting person to know, and gave /me/ a doll for every Christmas, and let me know she loved me. And I had another grandmother who read me the Just-So stories and showed me the treasures she had hidden away in her attic, and spent time admiring the shells I found on the beach outside her house.

The first spend much of her life - before I knew her - as an alcoholic, and probably contributed to my father's being emotionally stunted and unavailable in a lot of different ways. The second was almost certainly actively and horribly abusive to my mother. These are things I know in my head, and yes, they matter. They can't ever not matter. But I still have the memories of dolls and Just-So stories, I remember feeling secure that I was loved. In a way, it doesn't even matter if I was right or not: I felt it, and that's what was important.

It's complicated. So many things are. But I'm intensely glad you were lucky - and just maybe lucky enough that things may be a little less complicated, I would like to think that - and I'm glad that I have things to feel lucky about too; you reminded me of that on a not-very-good morning and I thank you for it.

[castiron.livejournal.com]

I never met my paternal grandparents. My grandmother dumped her first three kids on her own parents and her last two in an orphanage; no one's heard anything from her since the 1960s. It's unclear what happened with my grandfather (or at any rate, the person who I get my surname from; there's reason to question whether he was Dad's biological father); Dad was told as a child that he'd been killed in WWII, but a few years ago we learned that he'd died in California. In 1996.

On days when I feel like chucking motherhood and running off to Canada, I blame their genes ;-).

But my maternal grandparents were wonderful. Grandma taught me how to knit, and I think of her every time I make something; she'd be incredibly proud of the shawl I'm making. And Grandpa had a great sense of humor; I especially remember the rose story. I still miss them.

[kk1raven.livejournal.com]

I think that what you said to that person was well said. That really is soemthing to feel sorry about.

When my maternal grandmother died, my mother tried to tell me that I had no right to feel grief over her death. (My mother hated her mother and acts like she hates her daughters much of the time as well.) The grief I felt wasn't over any relationship I actually had with her, because I never had a chance to have much of one, but instead was over the fact that I never really had the chance to really get to know her. My mother's attitude, distance, and the fact that my grandmother was a Jehovah's Witness who was very strident about promoting her religion all interfered. Luckily, my relationship with my paternal grandmother was always wonderful, up until the time when she sunk into dementia.

[nmsunbear.livejournal.com]

I miss my grandmother (my mother's mother). But I can't exactly be sorry that she died, however much I miss her -- she was in terrible pain from arthritis for much of her life, to the extent that she prayed for death every night for years. So I can't begrudge her the release that finally came.

But I do begrudge the fact that she was crippled the whole time I knew her (both by the arthritis and by her emotionally abusive husband). She was miserable. And I never knew the vibrant, imperious woman she once was.

I have other grandmothers -- my father's mother and my stepfather's mother -- but, alas, they're not worth talking about.

Yes, you are very lucky indeed.

[petal-pusher.livejournal.com]

I cannot imagine that your detailing your experiences with your grandparents made your friend feel better. Perhaps you might consider that it would be painful for them to have your delightful experiences highlighted at this difficult time for them?

[pegkerr.livejournal.com]

Well, copperwise outed herself and replied, so apparently (I am relieved to say) I didn't misjudge my words too badly.

It was a difficult problem, knowing what to say. A standard condolence would not do, and yet I wanted to say something because she was a friend, and I felt a loss there, tho' it was not the standard loss. I think that this is exactly the sort of worry (I'm sure I'll say the wrong thing) that makes people tongue-tied and embarrassed in the face of death.

You may have noticed that I have a lot of icons made from phrases from Lord of the Rings. A speech that Merry makes in Return of the King occurs to me:

. . . it is the way of my people to use light words at such times and say less than they mean. We fear to say too much. It robs us of the right words when a jest is out of place.

(I should make an icon of some part of that.) Another one I use a lot is "I told no lies and of the truth all I could." (see icon) All I could do was to hope my wish for her: I wish better for you could be taken as a truth, and one that was kindly meant. I am glad that it was. Sometimes that is all that we can do.

Missing ancestors

[markiv1111.livejournal.com]

My maternal grandmother died before I was born. She, like me, wanted to be a free-lance writer but never got very far (although I do have my pathetic handful of sales, which she never had). She said to my mother at one point, "I expect you'll probably have a few children, maybe four, and I might not be there when they're all born, so here's a present for each of them." Mom had exactly four children, and grandma Floy's gift to me was a copy of the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam. I didn't get it till I was over 30, but I treasure it.

As far as grieving the loss of something you never really had -- I attended Adult Children Anonymous meetings for five years, dealing with the legacy of my toxic father (who got me started on both writing and music, but also tried to beat me to death with a cane when I was 8 and had actually been violent from my early childhood through my early teens). One of the things I found out is that it is very common, when the abusive parent dies, to feel absolutely nothing. And the important thing to do at this point is realize that you are under no obligation to miss someone who abused you or simply wasn't there for you. You can miss what might have been, but you don't have to miss what was. And I think petal_pusher came down on you a bit hard -- your post may not have made your original friend feel better, but I don't see how it could have made things worse, and it's the usual kind of sensitive and caring post (on a variety of topics) that I have learned to expect from you.

Nate B.

Re: Missing ancestors

[copperwise.livejournal.com]

Well, I will fess up to being the original friend, and yes, Peg's comment and other similar comments to my post actually do make me feel better.

I went from an abusive family to an abusive marriage and I write a lot about it in my LJ, because I'm actually turning my story into a book. And one of the things that I find helpful is people sharing their own abuse stories. I know I'm not alone. But I also find it helpful when people like Peg share their good memories, because it helps reaffirm my belief that abuse is not the default. I knew I was miserable in my household, but it wasn't until I began writing about my life that I realized it was actual abuse. I started writing about it and people started reacting with horror and pointing out that it was, in fact, abuse. Until then I discounted it because, you know, kids who get burned with cigars and beaten with electrical cords are abused and that didn't happen so mine must not have counted and it was all my fault for not being a better kid and wife.

I appreciate the condolences I've received, like Peg's, recognizing that my loss was much earlier in life, in not having the kind of grandparents and parents that I *could* mourn honestly.

I also appreciate you mentioning that my reaction of feeling nothing is not out of the ordinary in these situations. I suspected as much, but it is good to know that again, I am not alone.

Re: Missing ancestors

[pegkerr.livejournal.com]

My answer to petal_pusher is here.

Mildly confused

[markiv1111.livejournal.com]

For about ten seconds there I thought you were talking to other people about their abuse stories to work them into your book. And it's a little late for me to go back and delete my reply to your post, so here's a second reply. There are some things which are perceived as abusive by the person undergoing them, that some people might not consider abusive. And when these happen, you need to trust *your own* perceptions, not the perceptions of people around you. My father was a Ph.D. and a college professor. I believe that higher education got hyped to an extent in our family as to turn it into a vehicle for abuse. There are some highly intelligent people who are not academics and are not going to become academics when put under more pressure, yet disregarding this reality completely is standard in our society. Looking at this on a case by case basis, there are probably a lot of families where this belief is dealt with, with respect for the child even as attempts are being made to motivate the child to seek higher education anyway. Yet there are some where the pressure goes completely off the top of the scale, and there were points in my life where I wanted to blow my brains out rather than continue knuckling under. This may have been partly because the "pressuring" father was also the person who had beaten me repeatedly with belts and a cane, and consequently the idea of standing up to him was in itself terrifying, whereas a parent who had behaved respectfully except for the academic pressure might have gotten some respect right back, even as there was family disagreement. And this stuff is really pretty little compared to the rest of my abuses (and certainly your abuses as well), so I'll drop this topic for the time being.

Regards,


Nate

Re: Mildly confused

[copperwise.livejournal.com]

Actually I have heard so many similar stories since I started writing about it that I think when I finish my memoir, I may work on a book of collected stories. One thing that bugs me is that neither I nor any of my friends are part of the "statistics" because none of us were ever reported to the authorities. I want to tell the stories that haven't been heard.

[tassie-gal.livejournal.com]

I have an "interesting" relationship with my fathers father. I love him because he is my grandfather, but we have no sort of relationship. As far as Grandchildren go I am the youngest of 6, and myself and the 2 from my dads sister tend to be persona non gratis unless he wants something.
I did however have a wonderful adopted grandfather. He couldnt stand his own grand kids, so adopted me. I had the most wonderful relationship with him, and miss him every single day.
Anyways what I was trying to say was this. While talking about grandparents and relationsips with them, one of the Latino mothers I used to babysit for told me this "It doesnt matter if you were related by blood or not, you have had the experience of a true grandparent, and THAT is the memory you should treasure."
She is right of course, and THAT is why I have a picture of Buster in my bedroom, along with a small Shiva statue that I bought to honour him.