Grandma

This is one of my not funny nor interesting posts, I'm just going to occasionally use this as a place to get things off my chest. If you want to read it, knock yourself out. If not, move on to the next post, because I'm sure I'm rambling on in it about something that makes little to no sense which more fits my writing style.

This is a confession about the worst thing I ever did.

My grandmother and I always had a very special relationship. I never understood why, but I was her favorite. The whole family knew it. She even admitted the fact to me when I was about 9 years old, but she told me not to tell my cousins. I don't know if it was because I was always around or because I was such a charming little guy. Somehow I suspect the former much more then the latter.

I was the only grandchild my grandmother made a quilt for. And a turtle. I wish I knew what happened to that turtle...it was big enough for a 2 year old to sit on. My mother, in her infinite wisdom, gave my turtle to Goodwill when I was 4 years old. It only exists in pictures and my memory now. My quilt, I still have. If I cast my eyes to the side I can see it laying on my bed.

Unfortunately I left it in the care of my mother when I left home as a young man, and she didn't treasure it near as much as I did. For years she put it at the foot of her bed and let her stupid cats sleep on it. They tore it up. I finally rescued it about 15 years ago before it was completely ruined. In a couple of days the quilt will be sent off to my niece who I know will treasure it as much as I do.

Anyways, enough about quilts. My grandmother was more like a mother to me...even as far as her beating me with a 2x4 while screaming "You're an evil, evil child." I have no idea what I did to piss her off so bad, but whatever it was I probably deserved the beating. And it wasn't that bad of a beating, I was laughing the whole time thinking how ludicrous the whole situation was. A 5 foot nothing old lady hitting a 6 foot tall 12 year old with a 2x4. And calling him "Evil."

I have so many wonderful memories of Grandma. She always stood up for me when my overprotective mother wanted to prevent me from doing something dangerous like playing baseball. Grandma never missed one of my baseball games, not a single one. She knew the names of all my teammates and wanted to hear all the stories we told on the bench. Obviously as I grew older discretion became the better part of valor and I wouldn't tell her exactly what we were talking about in the dugout.

Grandma and I also used to plant a garden every year and every summer morning it was my job to weed it with her. I hated it. But, boy did I love the fresh carrots and my never ending supply of raspberries and strawberries. I spoiled many a meal growing up because I was stuffed full of the bounty from Grandma's garden and was to full to eat dinner. And every night without fail Grandma would pull up a chair by my bed and read me a chapter out of the Bible. That got really boring about time she hit Kings.

The years went by and I grew. Grandma got old and arthritis crippled her up. It was now my turn to watch over the woman that had given me so many happy memories. She was fiercely proud and I did my best to respect that when I went to take care of her. She had a wheelchair, but she hated the damn thing. She used it as a walker rather then sit in it and have someone push her around. I like to think that she loved that I was the only one who would give her the dignity of getting around on her own without falling all over myself to keep her from doing something she wanted to do on her own.

Which brings me to the worst thing I ever did in my life...

It was a Friday evening when I stopped by and my mother and her sister asked me to sit with Grandma for a bit while they ran and did something. I figured it would be only be an hour or so, so I readily agreed. I had a date that night.

An hour later my mother and her sister were still trying to figure out just what the hell they were going to do and I angrily said "Y'all know I do have plans tonight?" As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted them. I looked over at Grandma and saw the sorrow in her eyes. I don't think she was as disappointed in me as much as she was in the fact that her own body had abandon her and that her little boy had to keep an eye on her.

The last time I saw Grandma was when she was in the ICU. Others in the family had been to see her and told her how wonderful she looked. I, on the other hand, walked in and said "Grandma, you don't look so good." She smiled and said "I don't feel so good."

A couple of hours later Grandma was gone.

My only regret is her hearing me bitch about the amount of time my mom and aunt were taking. In the end I tried to give her what she treasured most...her independence.