Dear Grandma

Dear Grandma,

Last night as I watched videos of us driving around several years ago, I heard your voice for the first time in a long time. Hearing you call me “honey,” reminded me how endearing you were to your progeny.

In January of 2002, Andi, Jeffrey, Lauren and I visited you and Grandpa at Gleneagles. It was the first and I think only time we ever experienced a weekend of just grandparents and grandchildren. And you did everything possible to ensure that we had a wonderful time … for example:

You made sure we each had several towels and washcloths available, hanging like inverse nesting dolls on the towel racks. You picked up oranges at The Boys so we could make fresh juice each morning and also so we could rouse Jeffrey out of bed. You cranked up the air conditioning to ensure we were cooled off, even though it forced Grandpa to wear long sleeves and a sweater. You baked Tollhouse cookies.

You provided fragrant bars of soap and reminded us to wash our soiled hands, regardless of whether we had already washed them. You took us out for dinner at Boca's finest restaurants, most memorably Gone Tomatoes and the gas station that sold ice cream. You made sure Grandpa drove to and from dinner as efficiently as possible.

These incredibly thoughtful, caring efforts were your norm. There was never a moment that you didn't have the comfort and hospitality of your family and guests as your priority. Food always available and abundant, your home impeccably clean, visitors implored not to smoke and offered whatever snacks or sundry items would make them feel welcome.

Two months ago I sat nearby in the Delray den as you and Grandpa held hands. He professed his love for you and you rubbed his hand with your finger. Even with seemingly everything else absent, you comforted him.

And now you will comfort us through memories.

The reason my sister and mother are so unfailingly caring and helpful is because they learned it from their mothers. They gained from you, as did we all.

Sure, there were some people you didn't particularly care for … most of them were of course stupid jerks driving other vehicles, others were just meshuganas. There was of course the maitre'd whose utensils were soiled, and the woman who puffed cigarette smoke in a non-smoking section – they drew your ire as well. But to everyone else, you were nurturing and giving.

The last time I was here in New Haven with you was to celebrate Lauren and Todd's wedding in 2008. A photograph was taken that night of you on the dance floor with your four grandchildren. That photo reminds me how vibrant your life was and how much you loved and cared for the four of us.

It also reminds me of the love shared not only by Lauren and Todd and Andi and Matt – whose weddings you attended that year – but of the love you had for Grandpa. Whether “Gramp,” or “Dad” or “David,” he adored you and it was clear you revered him. He so often held your hand as if to ensure that you were not captured by some other suitor, even after 50 or 60 or forever years.

The story of your first meeting is legendary, but it is the story of your life – together – that should be required reading.

Thank you Grandma, for the example you provided, for teaching me Yiddish, for teaching me to wash my hands, for never actually washing my mouth out with soap, for letting me eat the pastrami with the swiss cheese on the porch, for laughing out loud at Seinfeld, for being the only person in the family more night owl than me and for making me laugh during every single car ride ever.

In a few minutes, we may be encouraged to toss dirt with the back of a shovel. But I won't do it. Instead I will use my hands, for I know that as I leave your final resting place I prefer my hands to be soiled.

On behalf of your grandchildren and great-grandchildren … Grandma, we love you and miss you.

Love,

Jason


...Fartik