Please, oh please don't scream "foul" for Friend #11. I had to. I really, really had to make Friend #11 my 86-year-old grandma who is returning to MN tomorrow after spending three weeks with us in Arizona. You see, on this visit I feel like I finally got to ask her all of the questions that I never knew about her past, the grandpa I never met, and life in the 1920's and '30s.
All my life, my grandma lived in northern MN - about three hours from where we lived. We saw Grandma each Christmas and in the summer. All of my cousins had a much different relationship with Grandma because they lived within 15 minutes of her home. She babysat for them a lot, so her relationship with them was occasional feelings of annoyance and more care-givery. For my siblings and I, Grandma was the nicest lady who always had a clean house, fresh oatmeal cookies, and Frosted Flakes. I called her the "purse grandma", while my hoarder grandmother was the "box grandma". I didn't know them by name, just by epithet.
Grandma came to Arizona to avoid the Spring flooding that has threatened her apartment for many years; the Red River is in her back yard. We love the floods because it forces her to come here.
On this visit I asked her questions like, "When you were younger, did you know any gay people or black people?" She didn't. The first gay man she'd ever met was the man who purchased her home about 20 years ago. She hadn't seen a black person until she was in her 30s. She told me about my grandpa, how he was in WWII as an X-Ray tech. She told me a TON about my mom and her brothers when they were children. I offered to write her memoirs but she doesn't think that her life is anything to write about. I almost cried. If only I had more time with her...
The one thing I really wanted to ask her was how she feels now, being one of only two siblings left, out of eight. Three sisters and one brother have passed recently, all of whom she was close to. I found that her Norse stoicism was a wall between us, preventing us to get closer. I'm hopeful that she will be around for many more years. I still have a million questions and it pains me that I could lose my one connection to the past. Those memoirs will get written. I promise.
All my life, my grandma lived in northern MN - about three hours from where we lived. We saw Grandma each Christmas and in the summer. All of my cousins had a much different relationship with Grandma because they lived within 15 minutes of her home. She babysat for them a lot, so her relationship with them was occasional feelings of annoyance and more care-givery. For my siblings and I, Grandma was the nicest lady who always had a clean house, fresh oatmeal cookies, and Frosted Flakes. I called her the "purse grandma", while my hoarder grandmother was the "box grandma". I didn't know them by name, just by epithet.
Grandma came to Arizona to avoid the Spring flooding that has threatened her apartment for many years; the Red River is in her back yard. We love the floods because it forces her to come here.
On this visit I asked her questions like, "When you were younger, did you know any gay people or black people?" She didn't. The first gay man she'd ever met was the man who purchased her home about 20 years ago. She hadn't seen a black person until she was in her 30s. She told me about my grandpa, how he was in WWII as an X-Ray tech. She told me a TON about my mom and her brothers when they were children. I offered to write her memoirs but she doesn't think that her life is anything to write about. I almost cried. If only I had more time with her...
The one thing I really wanted to ask her was how she feels now, being one of only two siblings left, out of eight. Three sisters and one brother have passed recently, all of whom she was close to. I found that her Norse stoicism was a wall between us, preventing us to get closer. I'm hopeful that she will be around for many more years. I still have a million questions and it pains me that I could lose my one connection to the past. Those memoirs will get written. I promise.
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