Losing a Generation

My dad texted me this morning to inform me that my grandmother, my last living grandparent, is now on hospice. He said she has only a few days, at most, and wanted to know if I needed her number to call for closure. Apparently, she is still in good spirits and is not requiring any additional closure from her friends and family. Normally, I can be sort of callous about these things. But truth is, if there's anybody in the family I'm most like, I think it's Granny. And this inspires me to formally say my goodbyes.

I find myself a bit saddened by her imminent passing. I don't remember feeling upset when my grandfather, my dad's dad, died a few years ago. Truth is, I can't even remember when that happened, whether it was one year or 4 years ago. I know I didn't cry. And I was surprised by how floored my brother was over his passing. I remember being sad when Popsi, my mom's dad, died, but only because that meant my Uncle Jeff was the only living member of his family. Again, I didn't cry, or attend any sort of memorial service.

But this time it's different. I don't know if it's because I feel that Granny is somewhat of a kindred. Or if it's because she's my last living grandparent. Or maybe even because she's one of my only female relatives. I wouldn't go as far as to say "I need closure," but I do feel inclined to call my grandmother and tell her how much I love her and how grateful I am to have had her in my life the past 30 years.

I spent a great deal of time with my grandparents when I was growing up. I have fond memories of spending summer weeks in Capitola, just me and Granny and Grandpa building sandcastles and feeding the birds. I remember loving the Santa Cruz boardwalk, especially riding the merry-go-round and throwing metal rings into a clown's mouth. I remember holidays spent at their house in Carmel, walking around downtown window-shopping and visiting the Monterey aquarium. I mostly remember feeling very loved by these grandparents. I remember that they were somewhat strict, and would scold me more often than I would have liked, but that they showered me with love. I was their only granddaughter after all, and lived relatively closer than the other grandchildren. I remember that my mom called them "Mom" and "Dad," and I grew up thinking I would someday think of my own in-laws as parents. I remember how much they adored my mother, and how in some ways they seemed to cherish her more than their very own children.

Granny has always been a pretty critical person. She has this sharp tone of voice, and I can still hear the shrill way she would say "Bill" when she was reprimanding Grandpa for something. Like holding the elevator door open for 5 minutes while waiting for an elderly lady to wheel herself down the hall, being more inconvenient than polite. I always sort of imagined Granny as the sort of woman who should have been born in a different generation. I'm not sure she loved being a stay-at-home housewife and mother, that maybe in a different life she would have been some sort of executive or something. She never exactly struck me as a happy person. Although she became much more agreeable and pleasant in her very old age, even after my grandpa died. I always wondered if she was sharp-tongued, critical, and somewhat unsatisfied because of the life she was forced to lead given her gender and generation.

I started thinking differently about Granny sometime when I was in college. It must have been freshman or sophomore year when they came to visit me at UPS. I specifically remember eating dinner out at a restaurant - I ordered a salmon caesar salad - and wanting to learn more about what Granny's life was like. Her childhood experiences, her family dynamics, her hopes and dreams, both those achieved and forgotten. Grandpa kept butting in, ever so chatty and wanting to share his own tales, when really I wanted to hang on Granny's every word. She was somewhat tight-lipped, and I don't think my hunger for her life story was ever really satiated. I do know at some point in the last 10-20 years I had the opportunity to ask my grandparents questions about themselves and audio record their answers. I'm sure those tapes are buried somewhere in the abyss my father calls a basement.

I tried phoning Granny this afternoon and didn't get an answer. I'm not sure if that means she's asleep, given the three hour time difference, or if I'm too late. I hope I get a chance to tell her I love her, and to remind her that life goes on, as both my cousin's wife and myself will be delivering the next generation of Hartman's in April. But she will be missed.

*****
I did indeed get to speak briefly with Granny. I must have woken her from sleep, as she took more than two minutes after answering to orient the phone to her mouth. Her voice sounded different, I barely even recognized it. She sounded far away, like she was calling from a tunnel in Hungary or something. I told her I love her, and she replied the same. This went on, again and again, for nearly 5 minutes. Eventually I said, "I'm hanging up now. I love you. And goodnight."