Gram

I wish I could be like my grandmother.

Not Munch. I’m too much like her already--controlling, stubborn, relentless, afraid of never being loved, yet constantly pushing love away when it does come simply because it’s unfamiliar and I don’t know how to control it.

I’d love to be like my Gram. I’ve written many times about how she’s the epidome of love. She devoted her whole life to her family--a husband and five children--and she was happy. She’s never been the least bit controlling, she’s always been a size 4--except when she was pregnant and “porked up” to 130 pounds. She’s not stubborn, and the only thing she’s done relentlessly is love us.

I grew closer to her after pap died, and she really started to feel like blood when I was pregnant. We thought it might rattle her because I was having a baby out of wedlock, but she was excited. She wanted Cienna to be a girl so badly, and I swear the first time she held her it added years to her life.

Since Cienna was born, Gram developed and beat bladder cancer. She’s laughed more and taught me how to be a better woman.

If you think I’m a free-spirited, loving person, you should meet Gram.

She was the only person I could really count on 24/7 when I was pregnant and then had the baby. She was always there to go shopping with me, to buy Cienna things I couldn’t afford, to offer advice, to love me and to keep me from feeling lonely during those first very lonely days. We played a lot of gin. And she made me a lot of mashed potatoes.

You know what else she did? She would always show me her wedding dress--a size 4 of course--on Saturdays and tell me that I could wear it someday when I slimmed down a little. It always made me laugh because she seemed so serious. And the whole idea--of ever wearing a wedding dress, of fitting into a 4--seemed so unreal to me.

Cienna and I spent most weekends during Cienna’s first year with Gram. We went shopping, took Uncle Mikey to bowling and had dinner.

When I got my job in Pittsburgh, we knew I’d have to move away. My mom wasn’t happy about it because it meant I’d be taking Cienna away from her.

But Gram understood. She said, “You have to do what’s best for you and that baby. Don’t worry about anyone else.”

I knew she’d miss us like crazy, and I knew, despite my best intentions, that we wouldn’t see her as much. We’d see her on holidays and the occasional weekends. We’d send cards.

Even that didn’t seem so tragic, though, because she’d still see Cienna when my mom had her. She see her at least one day a week, which is a lot more than some grandparents get--let alone great-grandparents.

I’m off tomorrow afternoon because I have two doctor’s appointments. So I called Gram to see if she wanted to have dinner tomorrow. Like we used to. She had Christmas morning in her voice.

“Well, I’m sure I could put something together!” she said enthusiastically.

That was an understatement. My 82-year-old grandmother could cook Thanksgiving dinner every day, do all the dishes and walk five miles without getting tired. She’s pure energy with a Scottish accent.

“What would you like, dear?” she said.

Whispering and smiling over the phone as work, as though I was telling a boy I liked him for the very first time, I said, “mashed potatoes.”

“OK! I can do that! What else?” she said.

“Hmm...roast?” I said.

“And what vegetable are we having, dear?” she said.

“I don’t care. Peas are my favorite, as you know,” I said.

“Well, then, we will have peas! And what will we have for dessert?” she said.

“Oh, Gram, that’s too much. I’m trying to lose weight remember? I’m sure your potatoes will do me in as it is,” I said.

“How about an apple pie and ice cream?” she said. “I’ll make sure the pie is warm too so the ice cream melts a little just how you like it.”

And then I cried in the newsroom. It just felt so good to hear her so excited about seeing me and knowing that she remembered all my favorite things and how I liked them. I knew that for a few hours the next day she’d take care of me again, and then I’d do all the dishes and clean up the kitchen while she told me stories.

Her stories range from old memories to what she talked about with the neighbor lady that morning.

“Well, I will see you tomorrow then, dear. I’m glad you’re coming. I’ve missed our dinners,” she said.

“Me too. See you tomorrow, Gram,” I said.

I hung up the phone and walked to my friend Sue’s desk to get a tissue. I’m not sure what made me cry more--that she was still just as loving as before I left or that I knew I wouldn’t always have her in my life.

What kind of woman am I to let my grandmother miss me. I know better than to take people or time for granted.

Here I’ve been so preoccupied with my career, my life in Pittsburgh and the guys I’ve been seeing that I haven’t made one of the most important women in my life a priority. She’s Gram.

I just love her so much. She’s so sweet, and I keep a picture on my desk at work of her, Cienna and me. If I get stressed, I look to my right and feel balanced again. Two girls who taught me what it means to love are never far away.

Don’t get me wrong--paps are definitely special. They always make the best men.

But there’s no creature like a grandmother who derives joy simply by cooking mashed potatoes and feeding her family.

I just want to make her happy back. I just want to tell her that someone made me love again. I just want to hold her and not let go. I want to thank her for giving up everything she could’ve been, might have been, to take care of her husband, her children, her grandchildren.

For as much as I love being independent and having a career, there are still light bulbs I can’t reach and rattling glass I can’t fix. And sometimes, yes, I feel like I might want a man around the way she had pap. I might want a family to make mashed potatoes for and a wedding dress in the closet that still makes me smile when I look at it. I might want family portraits on the wall that begin in black and white with a marriage and end in color with a great-granddaughter. I might be happy with cooking dinner, taking a walk, watching jeopardy, playing Yahtzee and going to sleep.

But not yet. I had a baby way too soon. I love Cienna with my whole heart and can’t imagine being alive without her now. However, just as she’s being potty trained, I’m gaining some freedom back. I feel 24 again. I like going out on Friday nights. I like taking kickboxing. I like having a crush on someone new every week and feeling the surprise when it starts to feel like more of a crush. I like not having to answer to anyone. I like not having to tell a guy where I’m going and when I’ll be back. I like cleaning and cooking whenever I want or whenever Cienna needs me to. I like learning how to live on my own.

Yet there’s something deep in my heart that keeps screaming how much I need to take all of Gram’s advice about loving a big family deeply and fully the way only a woman can. And I want to. I want to show her I listened all those Saturdays.

I’m just so afraid she won’t be there when I call her up and invite her to dinner to tell her that I’ve finally fallen in love.