Goodnight, Gran

I guess there’s no easy way to write a piece like this, so I’ll just go with how I feel. My grandmother passed away two weeks ago and I was a total wreck for some time. And although I didn’t really show much of it in front of family and friends, I suddenly found myself incoherent during dinner or while flipping through a girlie magazine. No, it didn’t take as long as an NBA game or a recluse cowering under the sheets waiting to grow a second head (now where did that come from?), but up to now, my mind suddenly shoots blanks at some point during the day. Not that it had plenty to shoot out in the first place, but I mean total emptiness here.

In the middle of a conversation with an old classmate I abruptly stopped smiling and stared blankly into space. He probably thought I was weird or something because he bade me a hasty goodbye and I just continued staring. It was only when I saw my granny’s picture back home did I realize what was happening to me. Those beady eyes, the bright smile, the optimism that eclipsed most of her reflections are now gone. And it occurred to me that I (thankfully) wasn’t going insane. I just missed the woman – a lot.

Gran was a survivor, to say the least, and her characteristics and thoughts towards almost everything made her as unique as the jolly green giant. I remember when my kid brother and I visited her for a few weeks in her apartment in the States (she loved living alone there) I was so famished at one time that I asked her if I could run down to the 7 Eleven to "grab a bite." And in typical granny fashion, she shook her head and convinced me that doing that would be a waste of money. So she took out her cooking tray and asked if I would like some of her home-made hamburgers. I nodded.

I switched on the TV and since she didn’t have cable, I was stuck watching the evening news with Peter Jennings (her favorite anchor). I almost fell off my stool because of hunger when Gran hollered that dinner was ready. I jumped up and rushed to the table, licking my lips as she pulled out the baking tray from the oven. And as my brother removed the cover, it exposed several burgers (at least that’s what she called them) that looked like miniature muffins dripping with beef fat. They weren’t that bad, folks, but hardly big enough to feed a mouse. And Gran stood there, smiling contentedly as I pretended to be stuffed.

And when it was time to finally leave her place, Gran always had a few extra trinkets to give me. She really hated saying goodbye and always opted for "good night, Machoy" – regardless what time it was.

She was so self-assured about all there was in life and I admired her because she never got overexcited about anything (good or bad). And well, she was quite, uh, thrifty. Perhaps getting a tip from the legendary miser Henrietta Green, she was sometimes too thrifty to heat a bowl of cold porridge on the stove. And she would shop for hours in a store and end up buying just a small pack of dried tomatoes and maybe, a new pencil sharpener.

On the contrary, Gran didn’t think twice about sending me and my brother hundreds of dollars on our birthdays and special occasions. She was cool that way. I guess all grandmothers have their own eccentricities. And we just kind of accepted and loved her for it.

She was funny, not entirely thoughtful, and absentminded. The old lady could raise hell when she didn’t get her way and could spend the whole day looking for a bobby pin she had misplaced. I don’t know but it took the steam out of me after living with her for a month. Overflowing with strength and health to live it up, our family actually thought that she was going to live forever – literally. It’s just that gran has been with us for so long that our lives seem empty without her.

I kind of accepted that she was nearing the end a couple of years back when she collapsed in the airplane and had to be rushed to a doctor. Gran got angry and blamed the airport officials and my father (her son) for missing her flight. She did recover, but was obviously no longer the same after that. The family decided that she could no longer live alone and forced her to move in with us.

She just got old, I thought, and six months after that she could barely walk. It broke my heart to know that the woman who loved to go out for walks and shop for dried tomatoes now had to spend the rest of her days on a wheelchair. And just as she survived through the years, Gran got used to it and motored herself to the garden everyday, at the same time keeping a watchful eye for my dog Eggbert who, if she found out was let loose, would rush back inside the house because the dog loved to frolic around her and give her a big wet smooch on the cheek.

My grandmother lived a full life and enjoyed every minute of it. And that was why I bade her a dry-eyed goodbye with a heavy heart. I almost bawled for the first time in over a decade when she breathed her last but I know she wouldn’t have liked that very much. And I guess that’s why I sometimes find myself incoherent of any kind of thought at some points in the day. It inadvertently has become my outlet of emotion.

It’s always tough to let go of someone – especially someone I love and cherish. But I’ll always remember Gran, and express gratitude for having been part of her life so that we got to know who she really was. That’s what memories are for. And I thank her for that.

I miss you, Gran. Good night.

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E-mail: mister_foxy@yahoo.com