My Grandmother Eda Died Today
I saw the text in the Whole Foods Lane 5. I was running in to buy a lemon to slice and put in my client's water. I had grabbed a piece of pizza, cold coffee, tonic water, and a scone for lunch and snacks. I was coming in hot from Irvine where I'd done a 90 minute massage, scrub, and scalp treatment on a favorite client of mine. I started late because I helped her put her Christmas stuff up in the attic. 15 minutes tops. Then she added a scalp treatment so it became 2 1/2 hours, and there went my cushion to get my ass to the spa. No biggie, just glad I always add time to my appointments.
I'm in Whole Foods with a headful of nonsense I need to take care of. I pull my phone out of my purse. It's on silent, but I can feel it buzzing. I'm not sure if the phone was set to buzz, or I just sensed the shitstorm of texts in my purse.
"Mom passed away midday today. I love you. I am so glad she is out of pain."
At first I thought it was MY mom, and I almost fainted. Then I saw it was FROM my mom, and it was her mom that died, my grandmother. The woman I'm named for. The woman who climbed the Matterhorn as a young woman. The utter boss who birthed five insane, brilliant, scathingly talented maniacs comprised of my mother and my maternal aunts and uncles. The woman who started a women's driving club, because she was bored. I'm talking race cars here. Mother of three, just post WWII, driving Porsches and Lotuses at what she called 'gymkhanas' in Lake Worth. I found old negatives of my grandparents looking superfly in their velour zippered driving overalls with winning patches sewn on the breast.
Total. Fucking. Boss.
I knew it. I knew it was coming. The twinkle in her eyes was slowly dying every time I saw her. She said the sweetest things. She always told a story or two. She'd tell me how much she loved me, how proud she was of me, and how she always knew I'd do amazing things. So smart. SO talented. And after about 30 minutes, she'd reset and tell the same two stories, and go through the same set of compliments with me. I knew she was getting tired, and I should let her rest.
My last call to her was 12/30/15 Wed at 12:23pm for exactly 6 minutes. I was walking my dog. I could barely hear her. I told her I loved her and I would bring more of that bomb ass coconut cake from La Madelaine's next time I came to Texas to visit. I planned on returning for Aunt Sherry's wake. Grandmother's eldest daughter who died at the end of November. She said she was so happy I planned on coming back so soon. I wish our last conversation was longer, more meaningful. Something more than me calling to wish her a Merry Christmas and telling her I love her.
She once told me I needed to hurry up and get published before she died. I published on Oct 25, 2015. Today she died. I barely made it. I wish she'd gotten a chance to read it. I would have loved to hear what she thought of it.
I remember being scared of her when I was a kid. She was the end all, be all of our family for me. A look of disapproval from her would crush me for days. She was the bastion of good taste. A better version of Auntie Mame. A martini drinking world traveler.
In the 90s, she did a compilation of all the 8mm home movies my family had made over the years, since the 20s. It was the Baird family and gramndmother and grandaddy's home movies of Christmases and family vacations. In one of the older reels there was a little yard ape tear assing all over the place. The film culminated in this little harridan hanging upside down from the Monkey bars waving frantically. I remember pointing at her and asking my mother.
"Who is that little tear away?"
Mom laughed.
"That little gremlin is Miss Eda herself."
What?!?!?!
The bastion of proper behavior and good taste had a video of her hanging upside down with her panties showing?
How awesome.
I got a glimpse of my real grandmother. The woman who married a airline pilot. The woman who raised all these amazing characters. The matriarch who sat at the helm of one of the wildest families in a state known for its characters. The woman who got yelled at by her mother for appearing on the front page of the Fort Worth Star Telegram for winning a race with a souped up Porsche. Truly an amazing lady.
I'm in Whole Foods with a headful of nonsense I need to take care of. I pull my phone out of my purse. It's on silent, but I can feel it buzzing. I'm not sure if the phone was set to buzz, or I just sensed the shitstorm of texts in my purse.
"Mom passed away midday today. I love you. I am so glad she is out of pain."
At first I thought it was MY mom, and I almost fainted. Then I saw it was FROM my mom, and it was her mom that died, my grandmother. The woman I'm named for. The woman who climbed the Matterhorn as a young woman. The utter boss who birthed five insane, brilliant, scathingly talented maniacs comprised of my mother and my maternal aunts and uncles. The woman who started a women's driving club, because she was bored. I'm talking race cars here. Mother of three, just post WWII, driving Porsches and Lotuses at what she called 'gymkhanas' in Lake Worth. I found old negatives of my grandparents looking superfly in their velour zippered driving overalls with winning patches sewn on the breast.
Total. Fucking. Boss.
I knew it. I knew it was coming. The twinkle in her eyes was slowly dying every time I saw her. She said the sweetest things. She always told a story or two. She'd tell me how much she loved me, how proud she was of me, and how she always knew I'd do amazing things. So smart. SO talented. And after about 30 minutes, she'd reset and tell the same two stories, and go through the same set of compliments with me. I knew she was getting tired, and I should let her rest.
My last call to her was 12/30/15 Wed at 12:23pm for exactly 6 minutes. I was walking my dog. I could barely hear her. I told her I loved her and I would bring more of that bomb ass coconut cake from La Madelaine's next time I came to Texas to visit. I planned on returning for Aunt Sherry's wake. Grandmother's eldest daughter who died at the end of November. She said she was so happy I planned on coming back so soon. I wish our last conversation was longer, more meaningful. Something more than me calling to wish her a Merry Christmas and telling her I love her.
She once told me I needed to hurry up and get published before she died. I published on Oct 25, 2015. Today she died. I barely made it. I wish she'd gotten a chance to read it. I would have loved to hear what she thought of it.
I remember being scared of her when I was a kid. She was the end all, be all of our family for me. A look of disapproval from her would crush me for days. She was the bastion of good taste. A better version of Auntie Mame. A martini drinking world traveler.
In the 90s, she did a compilation of all the 8mm home movies my family had made over the years, since the 20s. It was the Baird family and gramndmother and grandaddy's home movies of Christmases and family vacations. In one of the older reels there was a little yard ape tear assing all over the place. The film culminated in this little harridan hanging upside down from the Monkey bars waving frantically. I remember pointing at her and asking my mother.
"Who is that little tear away?"
Mom laughed.
"That little gremlin is Miss Eda herself."
What?!?!?!
The bastion of proper behavior and good taste had a video of her hanging upside down with her panties showing?
How awesome.
I got a glimpse of my real grandmother. The woman who married a airline pilot. The woman who raised all these amazing characters. The matriarch who sat at the helm of one of the wildest families in a state known for its characters. The woman who got yelled at by her mother for appearing on the front page of the Fort Worth Star Telegram for winning a race with a souped up Porsche. Truly an amazing lady.
I was at Chichen Itza with Dan and the girls, touring the ancient Mayan ruins when I got the word that she wasn't doing well and was on hospice. I had no idea that she was even that sick, beyond her normal breathing issues and worsening dementia. Two and a half hours later I got the text she is gone. Found out from a text. From another country. It had been weeks since we spoke. Such guilt and sadness. I wish I could have hugged her one more time. Thank you for this beautiful memorial. Spot on my dear, spot on.
ReplyDeleteThank you. And thank you for reading it. It means a lot to me. I guess there is no good way or place to hear about her death. Love you
DeleteBeautiful. I learned about it from an incoherent phone call from Arthur whose cell phone kept cutting out. And I'm like, oh no he's got it wrong I just heard she was going to get hospice care. Sitting at a table drawing with friends around me. They each got up one and a time and came around the table and hugged me and told me they loved me. It was so touching and beautiful. I love you and am sorry we lost her.
ReplyDeleteShe is now with Grandaddy racing cars and playing golf, free of pain and dementia. Free at last, free at last.