just a thought
imprints
story by: kathleen wrigley
Our grandparent’s, or family elders, are uniquely positioned to influence us. Most often, they aren’t saddled with the daily rut and responsibility of raising their grandchildren. The culmination of their history and experience and placement in our lives, provides a nice recipe for us to learn. It’s up to us to tap into that expertise!
Eight years ago, I was in Ashland, Pennsylvania for the annual Kelly family reunion. My grandmom, Grace [Kelly] Boyle, and I sat in a bedroom and talked. She invited me to ask her anything. We chatted about family members and family stories that we’d never discussed before. It was the closest I’d ever felt to grandmom Boyle, and it paved the way for the relationship we have today.
My grandmom is not the type of grandma that most our kids know. Oh, she’s a good grandparent. She loves each of us dearly. But, she didn’t play with us when we were growing up, or dole out many hugs and “I love yous’.” Her generation, sometimes, had a different idea of their roles. I remember many of our elders shushing us, saying, “Children should be seen not heard.” Can you imagine the crooked looks we’d get from kids today?!
Gracie Boyle turns 91, on May 29th. Anyone who’s lived that long has endured. She has always been proud, practical, tough, and quick with an opinion or advice and never minces words, similar to many of her generation. Grandmom’s stoicism and strength have guided her through a large share of heartache. She lost her mom to breast cancer, when she was just ten. She’s lived through the deaths of all six of her siblings, nursed her husband through lung cancer and lost him to the disease. Her only daughter was killed in a car accident. And we witnessed her age before our eyes, as our family endured the loss of her oldest grandchild, my brother, Danny, who was killed in the line of duty as a rookie Philadelphia police officer.
Childhood memories float into our consciousness. They’re often influential, allowing us to consider those moments, again.
I can recall grandmom sitting at the kitchen table, deftly handling a ciggy in one hand [fingers pointed and nails perfectly manicured], and sipping on her one cold mug of beer a day. Her house was filled with Irish accents and memorabilia that told visitors, “I am 100% Irish and proud of it.”
Incidentally, Grandmom quit smoking at the age of 80, right before gall-bladder surgery. When I asked, “Why stop now?” she answered, with a grin, “I wasn’t ready to before.” She definitely called the shots!
Grandparents of her generation were practical, too. She fit the mold. Our Christmas gifts year after year, were winter coats. We needed them, and she provided them. I don’t remember a toy. As we grew older, the coats were replaced with a card and a check, to “buy something we need.”
I remember the smell of grandmom Boyle’s roast beef dinners. She made the same thing, every visit, knowing it was our favorite: roast beef, home-made coleslaw, mashed potatoes, and corn. I used to mix them all together! The 7-up bottles we drank were a treat, too. To this day, I don’t pass the green 7-up cases in Hornbacher’s without noticing and smiling. She’d be pleased, knowing I hold these memories close to my heart.
Across the decades, she stiffened her back through pain and sadness. I have spent my life, watching grandmom from the periphery, until that visit eight years ago, when I began to absorb her. There was an invitation to share these memories, our pain. And, sitting together we cried and laughed, as we zigzagged through our life-lines, and I welcomed her imprint.
Since then, grandmom and I have had some of the most memorable conversations and have built a relationship, much deeper than I would have predicted. The years have changed her. As she aged, her shell has softened. Or, is it that I grew up and grabbed my chance to learn from her? Either way, our relationship blossomed. And I connected to her wisdom and history. I hesitate to think what would have happed had I let that opportunity slip away from me.
Now, time has just about run out for us. She’s frail, can’t hear, and is mostly confused. Still, in true grandmom Boyle style, she continues on, at peace, knowing her mark is indelibly imprinted.
Recently, we flew to see grandmom. I recognize this may be one of our last times together. Despite her hearing deficit and memory lapses, the conversation flowed loudly, but easily, and we laughed, even giggled, at times. Each visit is a wonderful souvenir for my kids, whom she doesn’t remember, but enjoys as they yell into her face asking if she needs anything, “a sip of iced tea, tissue, or how ‘bout your walker?” My nine year old daughter drinks in every ounce of her great-grandmother. She sits next to her and holds her hand, examining the wrinkles, rubbing them gingerly. This kid gets it. At nine, her intuition is one of her most astonishing gifts.
Our visit was special. At one point, for a moment, grandmom looked up at me and pointed, with a twinkle in her eye and a mild gasp, that told me, “I know you. I remember you’re woven in my life, somehow.” It was gone as quickly as it came, but I won’t forget that look for as long as I live.
Grandmom has spent her years living a simple, practical life. She focused on her responsibilities and provided for her family. Yes, she’s endured, and built a legacy of strength and perseverance. And somewhere, along the way, probably after bringing another generation into our family, it struck me that grandmom is an enduring influence in my life, a vital part of my narrative.
She’s left her imprint on me...my heart...my family. When life throws me unexpected curveballs, I don’t duck. I try to stand tall, hang in there and endure, just like Gracie Boyle would expect. I’m doing my best, grandmom. Thanks for leading the way.
We will always love you…
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