Grandma Weinberg

In the last three weeks I’ve watched two coffins lowered into the sandy, dark Zambian soil. One coffin held a grandfather and the other a grandmother. Men jostled each other to get a chance at the shovel to tuck the departed soul into eternal rest. Grandchildren waited their turn to put a flower into the grave.

Today I picture my own family gathered around a grave in northern Minnesota. Yesterday my family honored my mother’s mother with a church service of remembrance. Today they bury her ashes.  I can’t be there physically but I can picture the spot and the scene in my mind. Last summer, when my grandmother was in the hospital, I travelled to see and visit her, which I now realize was a beautiful goodbye. During the trip, my mother took me to see a cemetery with the graves of many family members. Looking for the names of my great-grandparents on tombstones, I was shocked to find myself staring at the name JEAN WEINBERG. It was a Scrooge-like moment. I found myself staring into the future, as if my grandmother had already died. My mother had forgotten to tell me that my grandmother had already installed her own tombstone. Minutes later it was a laughing matter and remains a good story, but today I am glad for the mental picture: my grandmother’s resting place. And I can see each of my uncles and aunts, cousins, father, brother, and mother encircling this place with their love and gratitude.

The following are the words I wrote in honor of my grandmother’s passing. My younger brother, Mitchell, did me the honor of reading them for me yesterday.

Grandparents are a mysterious blessing in our lives, and my grandmother, Jean Katherine Weinberg was just that. I knew her so intimately and yet there remains so much I don’t know. Grandma gave life to my mother and aunt and uncles, shaping the very adults who would shape my own life. Grandma will forever be in my memories of my early, formative years of life. She was around when I took my first breath. She was there for Christmases and birthdays and graduations. She was there when I was still figuring this world out, when I had big questions, when I had tears and laughter. She was there when I needed hugs and pushes out the door.

The relationship between grandchild and grandchildren is so mysterious because grandmother and granddaughter are living in opposite phases of their lives. Grandma met me when she was finally taking a load off in the lawn chair outside. I was running circles around her, singing at the top of my lungs. It’s such a beautiful paradox. The beginning meets the end.

I will cherish my memories of our beautiful meeting. I’ll remember my grandmother sitting on the couch, finishing up an entire book of word searches. I’ll remember one of her characteristic smiles-- one eye closed in a wink, scrunching up the left side of her face, her thumbs twiddling in her lap. I’ll remember feeling loved as I entered her apartment, seeing all my school pictures proudly displayed. I’ll remember her introducing me to the movie, Dave, because it was one of the only VHS’s she had. I’ll remember the excitement of her arrival at the train station in Milwaukee. I would have fun guessing which track her train would come, always hoping for the far one so she would get to use the underground ramp. I’ll remember her face lighting up when you told her she looked beautiful after getting her hair done. I’ll remember sleeping on the floor next to her in her apartment when my family would come visit her. I’ll remember being scared of her bathroom sink because I might see her dentures floating in a jar. I’ll remember her as strong and resilient, living independently and fighting so many health problems at the end of her life. I’ll remember her as someone who wanted to live, lying bravely in her hospital bed.  I’ll remember her quirks and some of the funny things she said.

I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I think there is something special in the generational line of females. From mother to daughter, to that daughter’s daughter. Within these relationships there is certainly times of challenge as the daughter rebels to assert her independence, but that never erases the fierce loyalty that connects grandmother to mother to daughter. I’m sad that this trio has been broken, but I remain fiercely loyal. My grandmother has left me a precious gift: my own mother. And now I have watched my mother take care, and love and forgive her own mother over and over again. Thank you grandmother, for mothering me and leaving me with a mother.

There are so many events from Grandma’s life that intrigue me: Born in Hollywood, valedictorian of her small class, survivor of a bus accident, spoiled and beloved girl-child, the first person in her family to graduate college, mother of four children born in four different states, famous and beloved in the Red Lake Falls community. I’ve looked in her scrapbook and seen her flirty captions, and I’m in awe by this woman that I knew and didn’t know. My grandmother is forever tied to my childhood, but hers will always remain a mystery to me. Now as an adult, I can think more broadly and wonder at her whole life—from girl to grandma. As I glimpse this whole woman, I am inspired. I am inspired by the mystery of the person I didn’t know, by her beauty then and even now. I’m inspired by her perseverance and love. I’m inspired that she lived and left a legacy of children, nieces and nephews, grandchildren and soon to be great grandchildren that she loved and loved her back. The web of people gathered around her in celebration now is a testament to this.

She leaves me now with intrigue at her life. So I will keep asking questions about her and musing about her, and thinking about how she has shaped my life. The beginning met the end in our relationship, but that circle continues.  She kept on throughout her entire life, and so too, will I. I miss you grandma, but you will forever be in my heart and imagination.