My grandmother died in August.  The memorial service will be held for her this weekend, and my mom has asked me to speak.

I could put together something easy, talk about how I’ll miss her, share a few memories, but I feel as someone who conveys my thoughts on “paper” that I should be able to string together something a bit more substantial.

Gram suffered from Alzheimer’s for the last ten years.  In the last few years, she had few words and the only way I could tell she recognized me even remotely was by the way her face lit up a little when I entered the room.

My grandfather passed away when I was only four.  My grandmother was only in her early 50’s–far too young to be a widow.  She had to find work, had a life to continue living.

She wasn’t the traditional grandma.  We did go to her house for dinner every once in awhile.  All the major holidays were celebrated together and she was always with us to celebrate our birthdays, but it was the 70’s and 80’s.  She was going on cruises with her girlfriends.  She was dating.  She got remarried.

Mom and I have discussed it before.  My grandma wasn’t very “grandmotherly” in many ways.  She didn’t play with us, she didn’t demand to see us once a week though she only lived 20 minutes away.  I’ve been used to her being gone from us through Alzheimer’s that her death has been a bit easier, but also because I never thought of her as a central force in my life.

As I think through the words I want to share this weekend though, I realize she was there in so many ways.

There are traditions at Christmas that I’ve continued with my kids that she started for my sister and I (hiding a bag of chocolate coins in the tree for us to find on Christmas day).  I still make her meatballs and spaghetti sauce because that’s what sauce should taste like to me.  She always had extra mashed potatoes for me at Thanksgiving because she knew I could eat my weight in them even when age was in the single digits.  And though she never had very much money, she saved to take my sister and I on our first trip to Disney World and she took me on my first trip overseas–two weeks just the two of us in England and Wales.

My grandmother wasn’t a warm, plump, cookie-baking grandma with a bun.  She always had a cigarette in her hand, more shoes than Imelda Markos and never went without her lipstick, but she loved me in her own way.

And she certainly never really judged.

Don’t get me wrong.  She was very certain about some of her beliefs–no matter how much she contradicted herself, but well…

She went along with Aunt Bev and I when we got our tattoos and even joked with the artist–this behemoth of a man–that she had each one of her wrinkles tattooed on.

She bragged to everyone who’d listen that I had a job in Washington, DC with NARAL while in the same breath telling me how “pro-life” she was.

Or my favorite conversation sitting around my aunt and uncle’s dining room table with her and my mom.  She just blurted out over the table of broken lobster carcasses “Amie, have you ever smoked marijuana?”

I was 25 and felt like it was safe to be honest.  “Yeah grandma, I have.”

She looked me right in the eye and said “you know I used to grow it, right?”

I had no idea what to say.  I looked around the table at her two daughters.  My mom scoffed thinking maybe she was losing her crackers, but my aunt just laughed with a knowing smile.

“Oh yeah!  Remember that great bay window I had in the old house?  It got the best light.  I used to grow it on that windowsill in with all my other plants.”

I saw my grandmother in a completely different way that night.

She was young once.  She had loves (she was growing it for her boyfriend at the time–and I’m not making this up–his name was John Paradise.  He was 5′ 3″ with his platforms on.  He had a big mustache, wore polyester shirts open to his navel with big gold chains).  She didn’t stop living just because my grandfather died.

In reflecting on my grandma, I’m now aware of the tenacity required for her to keep going.  She could have retreated, lived through her grandchildren and no one would have questioned it, but she didn’t.  She didn’t give up.  The woman wore skin-tight satin pants into her 60’s.  And she looked good!

My grandmother gave me the two women who have had the biggest impact on my life–her daughters Bev and my amazing mom Jean–but she gave me so much more too.

I’m grateful I had this opportunity to understand that.