DRAFT: This module has unpublished changes.

 

My Grandmother’s Death

                My Grandma Winnie died when I was a junior in high school.  She was a stroke victim who never really recovered. One of the last times I saw her alive was one day, after school, when my dad took me into her hospital room, and she was there with my Grandpa sitting next to her.  I’ll never forget the look in her eyes.  Instead of her eyes being hollow, without liveliness or emotion, they were animated, alive.  They were shadowed with an orange glow when she leaned over to her side in her bed, when her eyes met my eyes.  Before this, as I walked in, my Grandfather broke the silence with a simple question, “Did you have a hamburger?”  My Dad had told them that we just ate. My Grandpa was to her left, I saw as we walked in, and my Dad took his seat by her other side.  I remember that was the first time I had seen that quantity of emotion and love in my Dad’s eyes; compared to with anyone else- with my mother, my sister, even me. 

My Grandmother, throughout her whole life as a wife and mother, had been the backbone of the family, but I don’t think that’s why my Dad loved her so much.  I think it’s because she loved him unconditionally.  My Dad had his moments, when I was able to see a caring side of him that I didn’t recognize, and this was one of them.

My Dad was at my Grandma Winnie’s side, at that very moment, literally and figuratively.  The television was on when my dad told his parents about my sister’s plans for high school, but that didn’t break the gaze that she set on me.  I was probably too young to really understand what was going on at the moment, how, even though my Grandma would be a stroke victim for the rest of her life, she had all the support in the world, from my Dad, from the rest of the family, and from me.

 

Remembering My Grandmother

I was young when my Grandmother died.  She had suffered from a stroke, as well as a heart attack, earlier in her life.  She was an immigrant from Ireland, like my Grandpa was.  I have the best memories of sitting at the kitchen table in my Grandparents’ kitchen, silently watching television shows like “My So-Called Life,” while my dad and Grandparents sat and talked.  My Grandpa was in his fifties around this time, and I remember him wearing his Peoples Gas sweatshirt, sitting by my Grandma and my Dad.  Those were the days when my Grandma was around.  I’ll never forget her loving personality and the caring look in her eyes.

DRAFT: This module has unpublished changes.