Response to “Grandpa and Grandma’s House Sold Today”

Dearest Plexiglassfruit:

I saw a caterpillar today. It was slowly moving along the sidewalk, headed toward a freshly bloomed azalea bush. Immediately, my mind drifted to my grandmother, and I welcomed the insect with a resounding, “Hello, Grandmama!” My goodness but how she hated caterpillars, and I can still see her shiver at the sight of one. Still, without fail, seeing one always brings her to mind.

Unlike you, my memories of my grandmother are much stronger than those of my grandfather, who was only present until my 7th year in school. My grandmother, on the other hand, lived to be just shy of 104 years of age, so I was more than blessed with her presence in my life for about half a century. Grandmama's been gone for twenty years now, but while reading your piece, “Grandpa and Grandma’s House Sold Today”, I was vividly reminded of the woman she was and how dearly I miss her.

I was only sixteen when my mother, a single parent, died, so at that point, I went to live with Grandmama. She was almost 80 years old at that time, but she remained steadfast and ever strong, enduring through my last years of high school, then college and the first two years of my working career before she sold her home and moved 100 miles away to be near her only living child. Just recently, and for the first time in over fifteen years, I rode by the home I shared with her following my mother’s death.

The memories evoked by the sight of Grandmama’s home are difficult to express. It didn’t look much like I remembered. Admittedly, the years had made a difference and some of the structure had been redone, but it was so much smaller, so much plainer than I remembered. That house was pivotal in my life for nearly a quarter of a century, well beyond the years after my mother's death. I recall sitting in the tiny kitchen, eating Eskimo Pie ice cream in a crystal federal petal glass bowl, as well as sharing Sunday dinners every week around the table – sometimes with just my grandmother and mother, but upon occasion, also with my aunt, uncle, and cousins. I remember the small silver Christmas tree she placed in the living room’s large picture window, with its kaleidoscope wheel reflecting colors as it spun slowly around. I still have a precious mercury ornament that was Grandmama’s; it hangs every year, front and center, on my own tree. I remember Easters with a yard filled with an overabundance of beautiful dogwoods, camelias, daffodils, and azalea bushes. Grandmama was immensely proud of her yard each spring, and we always took pictures in our Easter finery, posing in front of the flowers.

Needless to say, the memories of my grandmother and her house are too extensive to detail in full. Still, after reading your piece, I was overcome with an urge to say to you that yes, your grandpa and grandma are still fishing and making lasagna. More than anything, though, they’re still missing you, too, but finding peace in knowing that they remain alive through love and memories housed in the depths of your soul, as evidenced so beautifully in your writing. I know they are immensely proud of you, understand the loss you feel, and long to soothe the tears you cry. As they were brave in life and death, I am sure they see that same strength in you and all you do.

Life goes on despite the losses we incur through the years. From treasured memories and those we’ve loved and known, we take valuable, hard-learned lessons that enable us to be courageous and propel us forward. Thus, the legacy that your grandpa and grandma, as well as my own grandparents, created vibrates with a resounding life. May you take comfort in remembering that despite struggles and scars, yes, it is always worth it.