Scouring for the details

Last night as I was heading up to put Ethan in bed, I had a moment of realization.  It's that moment that older, wiser parents will tell you about all the time.  It's the reason that perfect strangers will dote on your children, as if they were their grandparents.  He suddenly seemed so big and grown up to me.  It was startling.  "Enjoy it," they all say, "It goes by quick", they add.  Or, "Before you know it..." fill in the blank;  "He'll be off to college", "He'll be getting married", "He'll be tucking his own kids in bed". 

My heart skipped a beat.  As he climbed in bed, I made him stand up on his knees, and give me an extra good hug before tucking him snugly in bed with his beloved rainbow-striped blankie, Spiderman jammies, and his Superman sheets.  Thankfully, he's not quite ready for college yet. 

This moment of notice at how quickly life flits by lingered.  As I too got in bed three hours later, my mind turned to my grandmother.  I'm not sure what the connection is exactly, but I found myself scouring my memory for details of her and her house, and the brief 16 years I got to share with her.  At 32 years old now, it occurs to me that half of my lifetime has gone by since she left.  How could that be?  Ma, as my brother and I called her, died in 1995, after a devastating battle with Alzeheimer's disease.  It robbed her not only of her day to day functioning and memory, but also left her in a spiral of grief over my grandfather's death earlier that year.  She died three months to the day after he passed, and I believe it was the broken heart that killed her.  They were married nearly sixty years, and she spent those last three months rediscovering  innumerable times each day, that he was gone.  For me, watching her suffer in this way was greater than the pain I felt a year earlier when, while hospitalized, she stared through me, her crystal blue eyes now cloudy and distant, and asked my name. 

My only saving grace in this last year or so of my cherished grandparent's lives was that I was a self-centered, boy-crazy, teenager.  I was nerve wracked as I took my boyfriend at the time to meet my grandmother.  I knew that his tough look (think dyed black hair down to his waist, facial hair, and full grunge attire....just my type), would not be well received.  But, I was in love, and I wanted to share my beau with Ma, who's approval, for better or worse, was tantamount to my happiness.  And so, I paraded my boyfriend into their crisp, unchanging living room, and sat nervously on the piano bench awaiting the disapproving sideways glances, which I was fully prepared to defend with a rebellious, "But I LOVE him!".  But it never came.  They barely seemed to notice this stranger in their midst, and as we left their house that afternoon, I knew that everything had changed, and they were slipping away, and nothing would ever be the same again. 

And so last night, I found myself pushing my mind to remember every detail of their house.  I did a mental walk through from the front entry way, taking note of the slick paint, the furniture placement, the number of window panes, the details of the wallpaper, the smells of the kitchen, the hum of the appliances, the number of brass latches on each window sill, the yellow rotary dial phone, the flecks in the counter, a step out in to the garage, the feel of the screen door, the gate that always gave me trouble, the velvet covered brick that held the Dutch door open, the gray shag carpet, the red love-seat, the  metal blinds, the family portraits, the encyclopedias, the bathroom mirrors placed across from each other that created a sort of infinite wormhole of self-portraits, the hand stitched bedspreads, the items in each drawer and closet, the toys under the bed, the texture of the bedposts, the Jergens lotion by her bedside, the pitcher of water in their bathroom, the stack of blankets in the backroom, the sewing machine, the view into the backyard, the yard itself, and the farm, the sheds that my grandfather kept piled with goodies from his gift shop and the "flood" items from my uncle's store, the apple orchard, the grapes on the vine that melted in your mouth like the richest grape juice, the pear tree....on and on.

Ma and Nan Nan on their front porch

There were a couple of details that I couldn't remember, and it upset me.  I found myself, tears streaming down my face, because I couldn't remember what the floor looked like in either bathroom.  I tried to steer away from this thought, and remembered their Christmas decorations, and the odysseys through my grandfather's shed.  He had the strangest variety of knickknacks, tools, costume jewelry, salves, toys, and junk you could ever imagine.  I jumped at nearly any opportunity to go out in the dusty shed with Nan Nan, because it usually yielded me some trinket or oddity that would occupy my attention for the rest of the long afternoon.  I'd carry my treasure around till he asked me if I wanted to have it for my very own, to which I'd sheepishly, but enthusiastically nod "Yes", then scamper back to the porch to play. 

A few of the Christmas decorations are visible here

I spent much of my early childhood under my grandparent's care.  In Kindergarten, my mom and grandmother would alternate days picking me up from school.  My grandmother had this beautiful, blue bowl stocked with fruit for me, and would tell me that she bought those grapes just for me and Nan Nan, and I'd better eat them before he got to them!  Apparently we were the primary consumers of the fruit in their house.  Anyone who's been to my house knows that there's lovely painted bowl, full of fruit, always on my counter.  I spent many weekends coloring at their coffee table, drinking orange juice, and eating peanut butter crackers and cheese.  Still a favorite lunch of mine.  Ma would doze in the recliner watching "Days of Our Lives" while I worked on my art. 

I can remember stories that she told me about her childhood.  And things that she made me believe about my own.  She used to tell me how good it was to get out in the sunlight, and maybe even take a nap on the porch, to breathe in the fresh air while you slept.  And how if I ran through the house, I might suffer the fate of one little boy who hit his head on the corner of a similar coffee table, and die.  (Yikes, right?)  I always knew about her longing to have her own little girl, and as the baby of the family, I remember that she always made me feel special because she could indulge her desire to put me in frilly dresses, and rollers in my hair at night.  I can remember the smell of those rubber hair rollers, and the pull on my hair as a tried to sleep.  I can hear her voice talking, and best of all, I can remember her singing, hymns mostly, "Amazing Grace", "Doxology", "Battle Hymn of the Republic", and "One Day at a Time Sweet Jesus".  Most of these songs I pieced together by ear on her piano.  As I got older and could read music, I would pull out the hymnal in the piano bench, and correct my mistakes in the melodies.  I think sometimes her singing was to drown out my endless hours at the keys of that piano.  Still, she would encourage me, and sing along to help me find the next note. 

I tucked my boy into bed, and was happy to find that his blankets were still covering him when I woke him for school this morning.  I tried hard to memorize the smell of his head, the softness of his blankets, the stickiness of his feet.  Will I remember this in 16 years?  Will it be as clear the chairs in my grandmother's kitchen?  Is there room for both?  Is there room for more? I sure hope so, because every minute detail seems too precious to lose.

I mourned the loss of my grandmother more than anyone I've lost before or since then.  And though, as I'm aging, I fear I am losing some of the details about her, and her house, and I know that my own children will never have the privilege of fully knowing her, what I remember most clearly is the feeling of love and comfort that I always had in her presence.  Things rarely changed at their house.  Everything had its place and could be found right were it was last time you went searching for it.  I know that familiar feeling of warmth and unconditional love she gave me will always be there, even if I can't remember what the bathroom floor looked like. 

Jason, Nan Nan, Me, Ma, and Moe the dog at our house