Artsy Journal Template No. 19 - SwL
Digital Scrapbook Template - Artsy Journal 19 | Scrapping with Liz (the-lilypad.com)
Here with You - Lynn Grieveson
Here With You Kit by The Lilypad designer Lynn Grieveson (the-lilypad.com)
Emerson Bundle - Kim Jensen
Emerson Bundle by Kim Jensen (the-lilypad.com)
Word Count: 637
I was eight years old when my maternal grandmother passed away. Although I knew her, I have only one distinct memory of an interaction with her. I am sad to say, it is not a memory filled with warmth and love.
When I was about 7 years old, I visited my sister Anne, who lived a few doors away from Grandma Manda. On the day of the incident, I was out walking around her neighborhood with my friends. As we walked past my grandmother’s house, she was sitting on the porch. My friends remarked, with strong emotion, ’I don’t like her! She’s so mean!’. They did not know she was my grandmother, and I did not inform them of that fact. Instead, I just walked on by without acknowledging her. Later that day, when I returned to my sister’s house, she scolded me for my transgression.
To this day I have conflicting feelings about that incident. I know I was wrong, and I feel badly about ignoring my grandmother. I am ashamed of myself for not standing up to my friends-after all, she was my grandmother. The conflict comes in wondering why there was such a lack of warmth between my grandmother and me. Knowing how much I adore my grandchildren, I wonder why my grandmother didn’t express that feeling towards me. She was the adult and I was just a little girl, so I don’t own the responsibility for the distance between us. But over the years, I have wondered at it.
My sister, two years younger than me, also recalls a relationship that was lukewarm. On the other hand, my younger brother has fond memories of our grandmother. He recalls sitting on her lap and her kisses and smiles. He recalls that she wore her hair in a braid that went midway or further down her back-I thought she had noticeably short hair. Such different experiences and memories of the same person!
My grandmother Amanda was the only grandparent that I ever knew; the other three were deceased before I was born. I take comfort in remembering my father’s words to me about his mother, whose namesake I am. He said, “I wish my mother were alive to know you. She would have loved you.”
Anne is eleven years older than me. She lived with our grandmother when she was a young child. As she described what those years with Grandmom Manda were like, one thing she said stayed with me. Anne described Grandmom Manda as being “sweet and easy-going” with her and the other grandchildren, I have no recollection of a grandmother who fits the description of “sweet and easy-going”, but I am glad that was her experience.
Years later, in researching our family history, I came upon a newspaper account regarding my mother and my grandmother. I was stunned when I read the article. Shock became anger and in my mind I lashed out at my grandmother for being part of a hurtful situation – one which our mother had never shared with her children. An outgrowth of this situation created a painful distance between my mother and her mother. Over the years, I suppose some fences were mended, but the wounds must have been deep, and it seems to me they never completely healed.
People always said that I looked just like my mom. I wonder if my resemblance brought back painful feelings and my grandmother attached some of those feelings to me. It is likely that I will never fully understand what blocked the closeness between my grandmother and me, her little granddaughter. Knowing what I now know, all I can do is suppose.
There is a gap in my heart. It is a space that I wish was filled by love, or at least fondness. Instead, it holds sadness and perplexity.
