While college is full of ups and downs, our community has experienced the worst down — eternal goodbye — far too often this past year. Many of us have lost someone before college, but many of us will lose our first close family member, often a grandparent, around this point in our lives. Goodbyes are difficult, as I learned over break with the loss of my grandmother.
Few of us get the last goodbye we deserve. Few of us even realize “goodbye” is occurring. My farewell to my grandmother is hazy in my mind, involving a hasty “Bye, Granny, see you soon” followed by a quick retreat from the tiny nursing home room. My family developed this quick exit strategy over the course of her two-year stay at the facility.
She would cry when we left, over-exciting herself into hysterics, which the nurses had to subdue. We never wanted to over-excite her, so we left quickly each time.
I don’t like pain. I don’t like seeing it and I especially don’t like feeling it. My hasty goodbyes were for my own benefit as much as they were for my grandmother’s. It hurt seeing the frail woman dissolve into a puddle of tears as she sat bundled up in an old La-Z-Boy.
This woman was not the same as I remember her three years ago. I often became frustrated with this new woman, as she refused to eat, cried at the drop of a hat, continuously forgot that her own parents were dead and had trouble differentiating between my sister, my mother and myself.
On my last visit, I tried explaining that I would be spending the next semester in Florida. She did not understand and, exasperated, I gave up explaining. I gave up a lot during this past year, irritated and unnerved by her wandering mind. It was so different from the sharp wit and feisty humor I used to know. In those last few hours, as I waited at home for my mother’s call, I realized how cruel and selfish I had been.
I had sought out reasons to be angry with her, excuses for my vindictive thoughts against the woman in the hospital gown who had stolen my grandmother. Too afraid to face the truth — that the two were one and the same — I hid behind spite and irritability before reverting to an easier method of dispelling the pain: giving up. I regret that so much now.
Life is finite — but so is pain. Three days after she died, I cried as I looked down at the wrinkled face and soft, soft hands of the woman who reflected me almost as well as the mirror above my boudoir. I felt a little piece of me being locked up with her as the casket closed.
However, I also felt overwhelming pride as I listened to dozens and dozens of friends and family members explain how they met my grandmother and how she changed her community over the last 93 years. Like all the best grandparents, her life was comprised of remarkable stories and memorable tales.
I did not pay enough attention to her stories while she told them. Her tales of childhood during the Depression, a three-day stint in college, pity-dating some pimply boy named Sheldon and serving the needs of her granddaughters, family and community will fade into nonexistence far sooner than they deserve.
My memories of my grandmother and her memories of the world may not last the decade, but the love I feel for this incredible woman will last forever. My grandmother was set in her ways, remarkably cranky at times and incredibly obstinate, but she was also one of the most loving people I have ever known. Like college, her life was full of ups and downs. Every minute I spent with her, though, was an up.
Laura’s column runs biweekly Fridays. She can be reached at l.holshouser@cavalierdaily.com.
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