Monday, October 18, 2010

Milestones and Gravestones

This year, my grandmother passed away.  Mary Jane Balash was a day from her 89th birthday when she died.  Her death – something that had been expected for some time and feared for much longer – brought me into adulthood at warp speed.  Sure, I have officially been an adult for some time now.  I’ve been driving for 13 years, voting for 11, and drinking (officially) for 8.  But until this year, I wasn’t the exclusive holder of some of the most precious moments in my life.  Until then, my grandma carried those memories with me.  When she was gone, the knowledge of all that we shared was bestowed upon me.  It’s amazing how impactful it is to realize that you are the single shareholder to so many years of happy times.

In my youth, my grandmother was the person with whom I spent the most time.  She was my babysitter during the week and my weekend companion from Friday night until Sunday mornings.  I always looked forward to seeing her and I never took for granted all the time we spent together.  Her home – a small white house on a hill overlooking a major road in my hometown – was an exciting world of jigsaw puzzles and Johnny Carson (later Jay Leno), where ramen soup and acorn squash was always on the menu and the agenda almost always entailed visits to the lake to read books, the library (to do the same), and to garage sales in the warm months (often looking for more books).  We spent time on her davenport looking at photos from her youth.  We tag teamed crossword puzzles and word searches.  We went to church bingo together (I brought the lucky trolls and she brought the cash).  Saturday mornings were spent touring local grocery stores seeking out the free samples they offered in the aisles.  Grandma Balash went to my elementary school talent shows, my middle school science fairs, and my high school swim meets.  She wasn’t just a grandmother – she was a close friend and a role-model.  We had our fun together, but I also learned how to behave (or how not to behave).  I remember lessons that she taught me and the examples that she set for me. 

Later, when I moved away to college and fell in love with Jacob, I was reluctant to spend time with her anymore.  I wasn’t out to my whole family and I feared her disappointment if she knew that I was gay.  As Jacob and I’s wedding day neared, I decided to tell her about the wedding.  I didn’t want to leave her out on such an important moment.  Jacob and I nervously sat down with her over my mom’s kitchen table one evening and I came out to her.  Without batting an eye she muttered in a matter-of-fact tone “I wondered when you were going to finally tell me.”  Before the evening was over she had asked (almost insisted) to be one of the readers during our ceremony.  Later that year, she proved to be the best reader at our Holy Union.  They say that a mother always knows that her son is gay – I think the same goes for grandmothers.

As I look back, it saddens me to know that there will be no more fresh memories with her, and that eventually when I get into my senior years, I too will begin to forget all of the important moments we shared.  When I die, the memories will be gone and no one will remember (or care) about the bird watching we did while sitting in her cheap plastic lawn chairs beneath the magnolia tree in her front yard.  I also realize that while the specific memories will be long forgotten, her values and attitude won’t have been lost if I can keep them going.  They’ve impacted me and influenced my life and I hope that I can in turn help and support others who are in need of it.  I now carry the memories of my grandmother and the responsibility to continue on her tradition of love and support.     

My grandmother was cheap, stubborn-headed, and cantankerous.  I hope to be just like her someday. 
Me, grandma, and Jacob during Christmas (2005)

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