grandmother

August 24, 2022

The Soundtrack of My Life – 28 – Somethin’ Stupid

I don’t know if other teenage boys had a “50’s” obsession, but I sure as shit did. It didn’t even start with Sinatra, Dean, or Sammy Davis. It began with a swing album Robbie Williams released when I was in my sophomore year. I was ENTRANCED. There was a bizarre familiarity to the songs that I could not shake. It brought me immense joy and changed my sense of style and identity.

Today, when I took a shower, I felt the urge to listen to some Robbie. (My husband was in the living-room with the brother-husband watching a show at ear-splitting levels which made me chuckle.) In the shuffle that came out of the speaker one of the songs was one I had simply forgotten existed. “Something Stupid” was a duet that Robbie Williams performed with Nicole Kidman. Like some magical key this song unlocked a forgotten box in my brain and I was transported.

I remember obsessing over swing music. I would sing it up and down the hall of our home (the acoustics were the best there) and in the car. My mother was excited because, for once, she could enjoy the music I was forcing her to listen to. Mirroring my mother in her shock and appreciation, was my grandmother. She got the biggest kick out of listening to me sing along to the songs. One time it even made her cry.

To which I responded by stopping my backseat singing.

This all occurred the same year I joined the chamber choir at school. They placed me in with the tenors, and my grandma was confused. “You’re a baritone! Why did they do that?”

I think my grandmother was “tickled” over my 50’s transformation. She gave me all kinds of tips from her experience, having lived through that period. “All the boys put brill cream in their hair and slicked it back.” Brill cream… Her midwestern colloquialisms still make me smile. (Pop, billfold, warsh…)

It is from this time of my life where my belief in reincarnation took root. The sense of familiarity I felt over the music and clothing of the 50’s was eerily strong. A sensation I can’t quite explain, other than a longing or a sense of loss. Listening to the music and donning clothes similar to the era, felt as if I slipped into a bed, perfectly molded to my body. Perhaps I’m romanticizing it to fit some narrative, or… Perhaps… I am correct.

(If my grandmother heard me talk about reincarnation she would be mortified. She was such a devout Christian…)

On the way into work, I listened to “Something Stupid” once more and I was overcome with the image of my grandmother sitting next to me, in the passenger seat. (That was her seat by the way.) I looked over at her and sang “…I love you…” and in my head I could hear her singing it along with me. It felt so real that I cried.

She was the most wonderful woman. I haven’t missed her as much as I did in that moment. This is the first time I have “felt” her presence in a long time. Maybe I’m just more open to it, or it’s just all in my head.

I am certain most people feel that way about their grandparents. Especially grandmothers. In my polycule, our shared experienced is that these women acted as our “third parent” in our formative years. The first time I ever saw my husband cry over any kind of loss was for his. She passed a few weeks before my father. She was also a wonderful woman. I already loved her because of how she treated me and my mom (her and my mother went to the Native casinos together). But the moment that made my heart melt was when she was in the ER (shortly before she passed) and she introduced my husband and me to the nurse as her “grandsons.”

January 17, 2015

To my grandmother…

A Year of Writing Prompts by Brian A. Klems and Zachary Petit

January 16

“You are given the opportunity to talk to one dead person and tell him/her one thing that you didn’t get to before they passed away. Who would you pick and what would you tell him/her?”

I have to say that I am blessed. Death is something I am not familiar with. At least, not when it comes to someone that is close to me. Sure, I have had the distant relative that I saw on an occasional Christmas or family reunion pass, but no one that was part of my every day. That being said my pool to pull from is rather small. Yet it doesn’t diminish the weight of my choice. If I wanted, I could choose from a dead celebrity who affected my life in a way that they will never understand, but has deep emotional meaning for me. (I’m thinking of C.S. Lewis by the way. If you were wondering.)

If I could talk to one person that has died it would be my grandmother. She lived with my parents and me for a good portion of my life. As I got older I started to be very disrespectful. My parents were good parents but a little lax and my grandmother would step in to take up the slack. She was never one for sitting idle. She bustled around the house, cleaning my clothes, and reminding me to do my homework.  We both shared a love of the TV show The Golden Girls and every time I watch it I think of her.

It’s strange the things one remembers.  For instance, the last thing you ever say to someone will live with you forever.  (So make it good. ) I deeply loathe the last thing I ever said to my grandmother. “Do you want the TV on or off?” It was so cold.  So empty.  Absolutely worthless words.  What’s worse is, she hadn’t been feeling well ever since her surgery, and instead of asking how she felt or spend any time with her I went to bed after my question.

At the time I had been working nightshifts at Best Buy, helping with the store remodel. It was good in the sense that I made a ton of money, but it destroyed any kind of living.  I was awake long enough to work and when I got home I slept the entire day. It was a temporary thing, but horrible while it lasted.

On the last night of my over-night shifts my grandmother died. My mother had telephoned while I was working and left me a vague voicemail.  It’s still a mystery to me why I never called her back, instead of just rushing to the house. Instead I did 65 on city streets until I pulled into the driveway. I’m certain that, in my heart, I already knew what had happened. Come to think of it, I had started to cry before I even knew for sure.

When I got home there were unfamiliar cars in the driveway. My heart began to go even faster. I could just feel it. I walked into a silent house.  A small gathering of people had congregated in the family room.  Then my mother told me the news.  I wept and crumpled to the floor. It is the first and only time (so far) that I lost someone I really loved.

More than anything, if I could talk to her I would say that I’m sorry for how I treated her. Like I said, as I got older I started to rebel against her parenting. I got to be a dick and I regret that more than anything. More than our final, hallow, conversation.  I wish I had said more to her before she died. I wish I could have told her that I did love her, very much. She had such a profound impact on my life.  It’s because of her that I love to read, play cards, watch the tv show The Waltons. She was the first person to know that I wanted to be a writer. My grandmother read all of my stories and would tell me each time how good they were, even when they were most certainly not. I promised myself that if I ever had a book published I would dedicate it to her. Although, as of late, the project that has been begging to be finished (and very nearly is) would be something she would not read. I don’t think my Southern Baptist grandmother would really approve of a book about a gay boy who gets dumped and then grows wings. At least, one of the chapters she would just skip all together because of its explicit content.

I’ve heard some before me say that they wish they had told their loved one that had died who they truly were.  I never got to say it, but I’m pretty sure she had a hunch.  The woman’s room was right next to mine and I had a habit of talking late into the night to my husband on my cell phone.  It’s strange to me that my husband even got to meet her once.  He attended my high school graduation and unknowingly sat behind my parents.

My heart tells me she would have loved Charlie.  To see how my parents love him…  It shows me how powerful love is.