Grandma Margie was a fixture in my life for as long as I can remember. And, even as family dynamics changed, her presence was always there.
Grandma Margie with a little me at my christening.
She called me her 'angel baby'.
Celebrating Easter with her when I was three or four.
Blowing bubbles with Grandma - even my girls have memories of doing this with her.
Here she is sitting in a tiny chair in my early childhood room just watching me play.
She had such a way of getting down to my level and making whatever I was doing feel important.
Grandma giving me a quick adjustment at my Aunt Holley's wedding.
I was so proud to be the flower girl.
A cherished picture.
Me along with my parents, both of my grandmothers, and both of my great-grandmothers.
I love this picture of her, also taken at my Aunt Holley's wedding.
Blurry, but I adore this picture from Christmas morning when I was four.
She always dressed to impress and when I questioned her about it, she replied,
"Some ladies just don't look good in pants," and I never saw her wear a pair.
And this one is my favorite.
So happy to be snuggled on her lap while she was chatting with the grown-ups.
I think she understood me in a way that many didn't because she was an only child like me.
I had the privilege, so rare these days, of having both of my grandmothers living into my adulthood, and I had a close relationship with both of them. There was, however, a distinct difference in my relationship with Grandma Sumner (my mom's mom) and Grandma Margie (my father's mom). Grandma Sumner was like a second mom, a caretaker, at times even a disciplinarian. I adored her, and her passing just after I graduated from college has affected me to this day. Grandma Margie and I had a different relationship: times with her during my growing up years were special, purposed, intentional.
Grandma Margie exposed me to experiences I would have never had otherwise. She took me to see live shows like Oliver! and Cats and The Nutcracker, and I loved getting dressed up for our special dates. We'd grab a bite to eat at Swenson's beforehand, and I was so mesmerized by the toy train that circled the track by the ceiling. Afterwards I would spend the night at her apartment, and she'd always sleep with me in the second twin bed in the guest room. In the mornings she'd make me cheese toast for breakfast, and I still love it to this day. My favorite part of our sleepovers, hands down, was when she'd read me the book Eloise. She read it with the most expressive voice (that I can clearly hear to this day) and never skipped a single word. {If you know how long the book is, you'll appreciate that fact!} I so deeply regret never taking that book along when I'd visit her with my girls - how I wish she could have read it to them.
One year, on my birthday, she took me for an afternoon movie (Look Who's Talking), and I remember when she dropped me off at home, she said to my mom, "I'm glad Melissa knew all about the birds and the bees before seeing that!". I was thinking, "Birds and the bees??? What's that?!" I wasn't nearly as educated as she perceived!
Christmas morning when I was twelve. I'm not sure what I was sharing with her.
I always wanted to keep her informed of all the goings-on in my world.
As I entered my teen and college years, I saw her a little less; I guess that's typical of the age. I did try to keep in touch through regular phone calls, and she was a great letter writer and card sender. Anytime I was in Greensboro, most often for orthodontic appointments, HA!, we'd always take time to pop by her children's clothing store, Mother Goose, for a quick hug and hello.
There were times, as I transitioned into adulthood, that we did not see eye-to-eye on certain issues. She was never one to hold back her opinions, and she let me know when she thought I was wrong or had acted poorly. Even though I rarely came around to see things as she did, I had a respect for her and knew that her intentions were always in the right place. Though harsh words (or harshly typed words) were exchanged between us more than once, I am happy to say that we always worked through those differences of opinion and retained a strong relationship.
Despite being older in terms years, Grandma Margie was on top of modern online communication. After she retired from the Mother Goose shop, she quickly set up an email account and used it to stay in touch with her family. Then, when she began hearing her grandchildren talking about FaceBook, she set up a page of her own and was always in the know as to what everyone was doing. Most impressively, after her PC that she had used for several years finally crashed, she learned to use a Mac and even mastered an iPad! Now, when I make FaceBook posts, I am instantly reminded that she won't be seeing them. She was a constant supporter of my blog and applauded my expression though writing.
Here's one thing I know for sure: my Grandma Margie was proud of the woman I have become {or, more accurately, am still becoming!}. I know that because she told me, in specific ways, that she was so proud of how I'm living me life. She complimented me on 'the order' I've done things: college, graduate school, marriage, babies.
Grandma's 80th Birthday.
Surrounded by children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.
Grandma holding my firstborn.
She offered encouragement that I am doing a good job as a mom, even during those time when I feel like I'm completely failing. She once told me that she thought my generation, as a whole, has got this parenting thing down better than any previous generation.
Grandma, Cousin Roxie, a camera shy Carter, and me
on the day I told her I was expecting a second child.
A gathering of a few grand and great-grand girls at her condo in 2011.
She loved these times. Wish we'd included her in this picture.
She noticed a picture of my Murphy (while browsing FaceBook, of course!) wearing a long blonde wig to preschool and told me that she was so proud of me letting her express herself in that way. She went on to say that she didn't think she would have been comfortable enough to do the same back when she was a young mother.
One evening when I was visiting North Carolina during the time we lived in Colorado, I visited her without my girls. I took her on a drive to Fresh Market, she really wanted to try kale, and spent an evening just chatting with her. She loved telling stories of her childhood, previous generations, and her beloved Greensboro. She was well-read and always up for talking about old favorite books or her intriguing new releases. That night she became one of the first people who knew that we were planning to move our family back to Charlotte. Little Wright was cooking at that time, too, but I kept that under my hat that night.
From early on, she described my Wright as an 'old soul' with deep eyes.
I totally knew what she meant as I saw my tiny one in that same way.
Snuggling my two littlest girls.
She always loved seeing babies in smocking, so I'd oblige for our visits.
Just before Wright turned one, Grandma Margie was hospitalized with a back injury. I drove from Charlotte and spent two nights staying with her in the hospital. I helped interpret what the medical professionals were telling her and reassured her that their treatment plans were in her best interest. {She was a skeptical gal, by nature.} She never lived alone again after that hospitalization. With some trepidation, she agreed to move into an assisted living facility. She'd didn't immediately embrace this change, but she made the best of it and decorated her room with as much taste and class as she'd always done. Eventually she became the queen bee and social butterfly of High Point Place.
Sweet Wright took some of her very first steps in Grandma Margie's new home.
Fall 2014.
The goofiest of girlies with their Great-Grandma Margie.
Generational love.
We visited her three or four times in the last year, but the photos above are the last ones I have of her. It was not easy to visit her in a small space with three wild and crazy girls in tow. I hate to admit that the difficulty of managing it all kept me from visiting as often as I should have or would like to have. My last visit was on Labor Day this year. It was a belated birthday visit since she had other social engagements when I'd tried to visit closer to her birthday. HA!
I took Murphy and Wright with me, and we spent several hours of the afternoon with her. The girls played on the floor with blocks (which is what she'd asked for as her own birthday gift!) while she and I chatted. Moments after we were settled in her room, she became very emotional talking about all sorts of things past and present. I simply listened. The following week, she sent me an email apologizing for being 'gloomy'. She told me she was feeling extremely lonely, and I SO understood and saw no apology necessary. I could completely relate to the feeling of being surrounded by people, yet feeling utterly alone - just yearning for the company of someone who really knows you gets you. It was as if when she was with me, she felt such a comfort level that that level of emotional release was inevitable. I understood. And I was so thankful that I had been there.
We went on to talk about my girls and each of their unique interests. Murphy told Grandma that she loves makeup and fashion and plans to attend NYU. Grandma was pleased to hear how much Carter loves reading and is continuing her acting classes. She told me how proud she was that I strive to recognize and celebrate each of my girls' different personalities and strengths.
Grandma and I chatted about our thoughts on the current crop of presidential candidates: she liked Carson but knew he lacked necessary experience and saw Trump as a joke. {I agreed with her on both points.} We talked about books, and the following week, I mailed her my copy of The Girl on the Train which she was anxious to read. I was feeling nauseous during the entire visit but didn't tell Grandma Margie that we were expecting another child. I was still wrestling with conflicting feelings myself and wasn't ready to discuss it. I had no idea that when I hugged her goodbye that day, it would be less than two weeks that I would be holding her hand as her physical body slipped from this world.
I will never forget what her hands felt like that night.
On September 25, surrounded by much of her family, Grandma Margie passed away at the young age of 87. I was not ready for this final goodbye, but, I guess, is anyone ever? A couple of hours before she died, I did get the chance to tell her that she'd be getting another little great grandchild. I'd like to think she heard me. At just after 11:00 pm that night, I watched her breathe her very final breath, keenly aware in that moment that it would be her last. I wept for her on the rainy, late night drive back to Charlotte as I have many times since.
I was not prepared for the unbelievable grief that my Carter would feel. Before I'd left home to head to the hospital the night before, she'd said, "I hope Grandma Margie doesn't have cancer or something awful." That, cancer or some illness, was the worst thing she could imagine. Death was not even a possibility to her seven year old conscious. She wept, wept when I told her the news the next morning. I don't think a day has passed that at least one of my girls hasn't mentioned Grandma Margie. They like to wonder what she may be doing in heaven and what her new body looks like. Murphy imagines she having all day feasts! Their sweet questions and innocence are healing for me.
I know that death is a real part of life, yet when it happens, it's still so hard to grasp its reality. Yesterday, after that rainy drive, I joined our family as we gathered again to spread her ashes in a lovely arboretum in Greensboro. I sprinkled most of mine over a 'fairy village' (mushrooms) in honor of her creative, fairy-loving great-granddaughters. Grandma Margie's impact on my life, and on that of my daughters, cannot be overstated. I adored her, even in the hard times, and will strive to live in a way that will continue to make her proud. She always signed things, 'Bushels of Love'; I hope she knew, really knew that my love for her was just as great as hers for me. Beyond bushels.
