My loving but anally retentive grandmother. Fierce protector of your cubs. A practitioner of frugality, who had a shopping addiction and bought everything on sale you didn't need. A devout Seventh Say Adventist christian who studied the bible for at least 2 hours a day.
With your dementia and your short term memory being shot, you couldn't remember what you had for breakfast, but amazingly you could recite any verse from the bible by rote, that's pretty damn impressive. There was no listening to music on Sabbath, nor any dancing. Yet, apparently you weren't afraid to die grandmother, and for that I give you my highest respects because you are a braver person than I.
I will always remember the pictures of disgust on your face when we took you to Hooters for lunch in Vancouver. Yes, you had the dignity to still eat their curly fries and not complain, but the look on your face was priceless.
I will always cherish the months I lived with you in Canada. Me, a wayward, surly teenager, with no direction, no social skills, and certainly no job prospects. You cared for me, with my Aunt, Uncle and Grandfather. You provided a feeling of family like I had not experienced before. Your meals were wonderful, your care profound. We may not have agreed on certain subjects, but at least we could sit at a dinner table and enjoy our family time. We just avoided the topics of, sex politics and religion… thats how every good dinner party plays out, isn't it?
You faithfully packed healthy lunches for me and my grandpa, so we whities could go pick berries for the Pakistanis making $3 dollars an hour, but have something nutritious to eat. Yet making money wasn't the point, spending time with you and my grandfather was.
There will always be one instance I will never forget. I think I was 12 years old and my dad had let me have a glass of wine with dinner… after you badgering him about something (I think providing a minor with alcohol), and me being imbed with the warm feel of fermented juice… I said "Grandma why is there such a large bee stuck up your ass?" … your face kind of turned into a sour prune then, dad laughed, and we said nothing for the rest of the meal.
The next morning I was contrite and felt awful for what I had said, but you accepted my apology, with grace and all went back to how it should have been (I wish this could have always been the response to my drunken inappropriateness as the years went on, maybe there is something to that religion of yours and the no alcohol rule).
As that 12 year old you let me fossick through your purse, and look at all your peronalables, most people would find this rude, but you acquiesced thinking it an inquisitive part of childhood nature. You said our townships names with the weirdest pronunciations thinking they were quite beautiful appellations, while I could do nothing but laugh, because they were actually quite parochial.
You gave me a bible as your going away present… i tried to read it but after all the begets, and beget and begets, I found it handier as a door stop… sorry, no disrespect.
I met you when I was 4, but actually the first ever memory I have of any contact with you was when a big box arrived from Canada, and a big white fluffy bunny was pulled out. He was promptly named Snowy… I still have him. I met you after i got Snowy. I didn't have much of a concept of dad's family before then.
You lived in an apartment, and you and grandpa, mum, dad and me would go to the park and eat the berries we would pick off the bushes, which were right in the park. It astounded me, because I had never seen anything like it before. We also watched some fireworks together, I think it was the 4th the of july ones. And then we went to Christian camp together (god knows how my dad survived that one, I think he must have smuggled in a bottle of Jim Beam or two). We celebrated my birthday there, and you all gave me my first doll - her name was Cherry Blossom. I loved her until I was 9 and some horrid little child came to visit our place and with a biro, drew all over her face. She was imperfect then, and I was hysterical. I could never get her back. But I loved her right until she was imperfect. At that camp my grandpa taught me how to whistle… "you know how to whistle don't you Aer?… you just put your lips together and blow, ha yeah"… and I learnt. Slowly but surely.
My grandmother Mary, a quaint representation of 1950s domesticity, you never quite changed. You always woke up with your hair rollers in, how you could sleep like that I will never know, years of practice I presume. You always wore pantyhose and demure clothing. You cooked the food I loved, you cleaned a place making it more sparkly than it ever could have been, and you provided me with my favorite food source ever… canned raspberries.
Grandma, I want you to know how much I love you. We may have been continents apart, and I may be a really crappy grandchild, who seldom kept in contact, but I don't want you to feel like that it was just you, because i'm like that with everybody. And even though your death was not unexpected, it was still a shock, because in my mind, I was going to see you again. I am sorry I did not make the service, but I will see you soar into the air in summer surrounded by your loved ones when we come together to celebrate your life.
Most of all grandmother, I thank you for my father, for without him, I would not be the person I am today. I don't know what you did to him, and I know he didn't come out the way you wanted him to, but thats the peculiarities of life isn't it?
VALE MARY AGREY. This salt water is for you.
very sweet Aer
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