She was 95 years old, unmistakably English, stubborn, sweet, pocket-size. She told stories about the past that got more elaborate each time, but the unchanging factor was that she always starred in them.
Her mind had been on the way out for years. I hadn't visited her since the worst of it, and I don't know if she recognized who the Chanukah and birthday cards were coming from. I hope she did. I always included a recent photo with my brother's and my names on the back, hoping it would strike the match.
When I was in middle school, Grandma Rosa came to grandparents' day in her favorite black-and-white zebra-print shirt with a matching purse she'd made herself by weaving the extra fabric from the shirt through the chain handle. She was a huge hit. My friends and their parents and grandparents talked about her for years afterward.
Sometime—I don't remember how long ago—before she moved from her Sheffield apartment into a nursing home closer to my uncle and his family in Leeds, we took a long walk on the moors together. She wore a little wooly hat and kept reciting these lines by Christina Rossetti as we moved slowly, Grandma pace, along the path:
Does the road go uphill all the way?
Yes, to the very end.
Yes, to the very end.
Last night, she went into the hospital with pneumonia. The same thing happened last year; she made it through. This time, she didn't. She lived a long time and died quietly in her sleep.
I'm not sure what else to say except that I haven't seen my Grandma Rosa in five years, and tomorrow afternoon I'm getting on a plane to England to go say goodbye. Only part of my heart thinks it's too late.
6 comments:
Hugs, sweetie. Your grandma was a special woman, and I will always have sweet memories of her.
I remember her visiting my folks in the States, there were several nights of her, my mom and me staying up late and getting giggly.
In the 70s I stayed with her in Sheffield after backpacking through Europe. She taught me to make a proper tea, using her silver tea set every day. Only after about a week did she trust me to prepare it! We spent a very silly afternoon watching a Welsh soap opera, and although she insisted they were speaking English I couldn't understand a word, and she had to keep "translating" what they said.
In the 80s she came and visited us in Israel, traveling with my then-mother-in-law from Leeds. They were here for Independence Day, and we took them to the celebrations on the main street, handed them squeaky plastic hammers, and off we went through the throngs of dancing and singing people who were bonking everyone in sight with those hammers. I will always treasure the memory of Rosa wielding that hammer, definitely giving as good as she got. I can still see the image of one tall fellow who bonked her on the head, then graciously stood still and bowed his head down so she could bonk him right back.
Please give a special hug to your mom from me. I will remember Rosa at shul this week, and tonight I will raise a glass in a toast in farewell to her.
xo Chana
Thanks, Chana - I love the hammer story, can just picture her expression. Will pass along your thoughts and memories to my mom.
As they say..I just stumbled onto your blog by accident..clicked, and there I was..and it meant something very human to read it.. Blessings to you and to the lovely lady who was your Gran.
Missing is part of living..
Thanks..
Thanks, Lyn. Very kind of you to stop by and leave thoughtful words.
Hi hun, I'm sorry to hear about your grandma. *hugs*
Muito bonita a história!
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